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THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER; 

OR, 


THE CniLDRE?^ OF THE ISLE. 



•V.4 


t 


BY 


MRS. EMMA D. E. N. SOUTHWORTII. 

AUTHOR OP “MIRIAM, THE AVENGER ; OR, THE MISSING BRIDE,” “A BEAUTIFUL FIEND,” 
“ HOW HE WON HER,” “ RETRIBUTION,” “ CHANGED BRIDES,” “ TRIED FOR HER LIFE,” 

“ bride’s fate,” “ LADY OP THE ISLE,” “A NOBLE LORD,” “ CRUEL AS THE GRAVE, 

“ THE widow’s son,” “ALLWORTH ABBEY,” “ LOST HEIRESS,” “ FAMILY DOOM,” 

“THE artist’s love,” “ GIPSY’S PROPHECY,” “HAUNTED HOMESTEAD,” 

“FALLEN PRIDE,” “VICTOR’S TRIUMPH,” “THE CURSE OF CLIFTON,” 

“THE SPECTRE LOVER,” “MAIDEN WIDOW,” “ TWO SISTERS,” 

“ BRIDAL EVE,” “ FAIR PLAY,” “ THE FATAL MARRIAGE,” 

“PRINCE OF DARKNESS,” “BRIDE OP LLEWELLYN,” 

“MOTHER-IN-LAW,” “DESERTED WIPE,” “INDIA,” 

“THE FORTUNE SEEKER,” “WIFE’S VICTORY,” 

“love’s labor won,” “THREE BEAUTIES,” 

“THE CHRISTMAS GUEST,” “VIVIA,” 

“LOST HEIR OF LINLITHGOW,” ETC. 


** Desert me ! No, thou canst not ! I am thine f 
I am ! Look at me, dearest I Look at me! < 
I am half blind with weeping; and mine eyes 
Have not a tear left in them ." — Festus. 


L: 




PHILADELPHIA: 

T. B. PETERSOJT & BROTHERS; 

30G CHESTNUT STREET. , 




Entered according to Act of Congroiw, in the year 1875, by 
T. B. PETERSON A BROTIIEllS, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. 


MRS. EMMA D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH’S WORKS. 


Each Work is complete in one large Duodecimo Volume. 


MIRIAM, THE AVENGER; or, THE MISSING BRIDE. 
VICTOR* S TRIUMPH. A Sequel to “A Beautiful Fiend.** 
A BEAUTIFUL FIEND; or, THROUGH THE FIRE. 

. FAIR PLAY; OR, THE TEST OF THE LONE ISLE 
« HOW HE WON HER. A Sequel to Fair Play.** 



THE FATAL MARRIAGE. 

THE LOST HEIR OF LINLITHGOW. 
THE ARTISTS LOVE. 


CRUEL AS THE GRAVE. 

X THE CHANGED BRIDES. 


THE BRIDE'S FATE. A Sequel to ^'•The Changed Brides." 
TRIED FOR HER LIFE. A Sequel to "Cruel as the Grave.** 
THE CHRISTMAS GUEST; or, The Crime and the Curse. 
THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 

THE GIPSY*S PROPHECY. 

THE FORTUNE SEEKER. 


THE LOST HEIRESS. 

THE THREE BEAUTIES. 
THE WIDOW’S SON. 


THE BRIDAL EVE. 

A NOBLE LORD. Sequel to The Lost Heir of Linlithgow." 
xTHE FAMILY DOOM; or, THE SIN OF A COUNTESS. 
. THE MAIDEN WIDOW. Sequel to "The Family Doom.** 
THE HA UNTED HOMESTEAD. 

LOVE’S LABOR WON. 

^LADY OF THE ISLE. 


THE WIFE’S VICTORY. 
THE DESERTED WIFE. 
ALLWORTH ABBEY. 


FALLEN PRIDE; OR, THE MOUNTAIN GIRL’S LOVE. 
INDIA; OR, THE PEARL OF PEARL RIVER. 

VIVIA; OR, THE SECRET OF POWER. 

THE CURSE OF CLIFTON. 

\THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 

THE MOTHER-IN-LAW. 


THE PRINCE OF DARKNESS. 
THE TWO SISTERS. 


THE SPECTRE LOVER. 


RETRIBUTION. 


Price of each, $1.75 in Cloth; or $1.50 in Paper Cover. 


Above hooks are for sale by all Booksellers. Copies of any one or all 
of the above books, will be sent to any one, to any place, postage pre-paid. 


or free of freight, on remitting price of the ones wanted, to the publishers, 


T. B. PETERSON ^ BROTHERS, 

306 Chestkut Street, Philadelphia, Pa. 




CONTENTS. 


Ihteoduotort — St. Clara’s Islb, 


OHAPTEB 

I. Mount Calm, . , .... 

II. The New Suitor, 

III. The Husband’s and the Father’s Tyranny, 

IV. The Madness and Flight of Alice, . 

V. The Wild Appeal, 

VI. The Husband’s Authority, 

VII. Country Neighbours, 

VIII. Hutton of the Isles, 

IX. The Bride of the Isles, 

X. Hutton Lodge, 

XI. The Nocturnal Visiters, 

XII. The Maiden Wife, 

XIII. The Patience of Alice, ... 

XIV. Alice’s Visit to Hutton Isle, .... 

XV. Night and Storm on the Isle — Child of the Wreck, 
XVI. The Desolate House, ...«»• 

XVII. Vanishing of Agnes, 

XVIII. The Elfin Girl, 

XIX. Elsie, . . 

XX. The Ball— The Unexpected Guest, 


rA«a 

17 

20 

27 

84 

40 

49 

66 

61 

70 

71 
80 
89 
94 

103 

113 

119 

126 

180 

185 

142 

150 


( 16 ) 


10 


CONTENTS 


GE&PTEB 

XXI. Tlie New-Fonmd Heir, . 
xxn. Devotion of Love, — . 
xxm. Elsie in the Attic, 
xxrv. Cruelty — A Chamber Scene, 

XXV. Marriage, 

xxvr. The Heart Overtaeked,” 
xxvn. The Wife’s Trust, , . . . 

xxvrii. Life’s Storm and Soul’s Shelter, 

XXIX. Day after the Wedding, 

XXX. Deep Dell — Country Tavern, 

XXXI. The Vault, .... 

xxxii. The Children of the Isle, . 

XXXIII. The Maninosie Gatherers, . 
xxxiv. The Footstep, . , . 

XXXV. The Night Vlrit, 
xxxTi. Nettie in the Mansion, 

XXX vu. The Interview, .... 

XXXVIII. Elsie in the Log Cabin, 

XXXIX. What came next, 

XL. The riight of Time, 
xLi. Light on the Island, 
xxu. The Beehive, .... 
xLiii. Hugh and Garnet, 
xuv. The Struggle of Love and Ambition, 
XLV. Elsie’s Fortunes, 

1K.VI. Th 3 Secret Revealed,. 


PAOI 

169 
. 162 
172 ^ 
. 179 
186 
. 194 
204 
. 209 
218 
. 225 
233 
. 245 
254 
. 263 
269 
. 277 
284* 

. 295 
304 
. 314 
326 
. 341 

854 
. 365 
880 
. 889 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER; 

OR, 

THE CHILDREN OF THE ISLE. 


INTRODUCTORY. 

ST. olara’s isle. 

The Island lies nine leagues away : 

Along its solitary shore 
Of craggy rock and sandy bay, 

No sound but ocean’s roar, 

Save where the bold, wild sea-bird makes her home, 

Her shrill cry coming through the sparkling foam. 

B. H. Dana. 

The scenes of our story lie along the Western shore of 
Maryland, near the mouth of the Potomac River, and among 
the islets of the Chesapeake Bay. 

Nothing can be more beautiful, grand, and inspiring, than 
the scenery of this region. 

The great Potomac, a mighty and invincible monarch of 
rivers, even from her first stormy conquest, in which she rent 
apart the everlasting mountains, and forced herself a passage 
to the sea — widens and broadens her channel, extending the 
area of her empire continually as she goes on her irresistible 
way in a vast, calm, majestic flow of waters to the ocean. 

At the mouth of the river on the North, or Maryland side, 
is Point Lookout — on the South, or Virginia side, ifl Smifh^s 


18 THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER 

Point, with an expanse of water, twenty miles in width, be- 
tween them. 

The shore on the Maryland side is broken by the most 
beautiful creeks and inlets, and dotted by the most beautiful 
islets that imagination can depict : — creeks, whose crystal- 
clear waters reflect every undulating hill and vale, every sha- 
dowy tree and bright flower lying upon their banks, and every 
soft and dark, or sun-gilded and glorious cloud floating in the 
skies above their bosoms : — islets, whose dewy, fresh and 
green luxuriance of vegetation, darksome trees, and profound 
solitude, tempt one into poetic dreams of an ideal hermitage. 
The beauty and interest of this shore is enhanced by the oc- 
, casional glimpses of rural homes — magnificent, or simply 
picturesque — seen indistinctly through the trees, at the head 
of some creek, on the summit of some distant hill, or in the 
shades of some thick grove. 

Nothing can surpass the pleasure of the opposite, but de- 
lightfully blended emotions inspired by this scene ! 

On the one hand the near shore, with its inlets and islands, 
its sunny hills and shadowy dells, its old forests, its cornfields, 
and its sweet, sequestered homes, yields that dear sense of 
safety and repose, which the most adventurous never like to 
lose entirely. 

On the other hand, looking out to the sea, the broad ex- 
panse of waters, the free and unobstructed pathway to all 
parts of the world, fills and dilates the heart with an exultant 
sense of boundless freedom 1 

I said that the islets of the Potomac were fertile, verdant, 
and luxurious in vegetation. This is because their sandy soil 
is mixed freely with clay and marl ; because it is enriched 
with the deposits of the vast flocks of water-fowl that hover 
upon them for safe repose; and finally, because, unlike the 
worn-out lands of the peninsular, the soil is a virgin one, 
where, for ages, vegetation has budded, bloomed, and decayed, 
and returned to the earth to fertilize it. (And here let me 
be pardoned for saying, that it is a matter of surprise to me, 
that the attention of enterprising men has never been turned 
to these islands as a source of agricultural wealth ; for, besides 
the rich fertility of the soil, the salubrity of the air, and the 
beauty and grandeur of the land and water scenery, these 
islands are rich in shoals of fish, crabs, and oysters, and in 
vast flocks of water-fowl. But we ever overlook and leave 
th? near to seek the far-off good.) 


ST. claba’s isle. 


19 


Beyond the month of the river, however, and up the coast 
of the bay, the islands are sandy and poor — nearly unproduc- 
tive, or entirely barren. 

Any one who will turn to the map of Maryland, will ®oe 
that the Chesapeake Bay is interspersed with numerous islands 
of all sizes, from the largest — Kent Island — to the smallest, 
nameless sand-bank ; that the Eastern and Western shores of 
Maryland are beautifully diversified with every modification 
of land and water scenery ; ’that the inlets and islands of the 
coast form the most charming features of the landscape. 

Some distance above Point Lookout, at the mouth of the 
Potomac River, up the Western shore of Maryland, there is a 
beautiful inlet, or small bay, making up about three miles into 
the land, called St. Clara^s Bay, by one of the early Roman 
Catholic settlers. At the head waters of this inlet is a small, 
very old hamlet, the site of one of the first settlements of the 
State, intended once, no doubt, for a great colonial sea-port, 
and christened, by the same sponsor, St. Clarasville. With its 
fine harbour and great commercial facilities, whatever could 
have arrested its growth, and withered it in its prime, I do not 
know — possibly the very abundance of other good harbours 
on the coast — ^probably the frequent and violent dissensions 
between the pre-emption freebooters of the Bay Isles, and the 
legal proprietors and settlers of the mainland. Lying two 
miles off the mouth of this inlet, and stretching across in front 
of it, is an oblong, sandy, and nearly barren island — rich, how- 
ever, in fish, crabs, oysters and water-fowl, and upon this 
account a great resort in early colonial times, and baptized, 
by the same devout claimant of the bay and town, St. Clara^s 
Isle, in honour of his patron saint. 

But there was another claimant of the island, inlet, and 
township; a freebooter, who, believing in, and acknowledging 
no greater personage than himself, had named the isle, the bay, 
and town also, when it was laid out, after himself. So they 
were first and most frequently called Hutton^ s Island, Bay and 
Town. 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 




CHAPTER 1. 

MOUNT CALM. 

A proud aristocratic hall it seems, 

Not courting, but discouraging ajpproach. — Moultrie. 

Let me introduce you to Mount Calm, the seat ot 
General Aaron Garnet. Even from the hay you can see the 
mansion-house, with its broad white front, as it crowns the 
highest of a distant range of hills. After passing through 
the village of Hutton, and going up and down the grassy hills 
that rise one above the other beyond it, you enter a deep hol- 
low, thickly grown with woods, and passing through it, begin 
to ascend, by a heavily shaded forest road, the last and highest 
hill of the range — Mount Calm. When about half-way up 
this hill, you come to the brick walls enclosing the private 
grounds, and passing through the porter^ s gate, you enter a 
heavily shaded carriage drive, that, sweeping around in an 
ascending half-circle, brings you up before the mansion house. 
Now you can turn around and view tha grounds and the land- 
scape below. The lawn, with its numerous gigantic oaks and 
elms, its vine-clad arbours, serpentine walks and rustic seats ; 
the magnificent old forest enclosing it in a sweeping semicircle ; 
the undulating hills below, as they fall one beneath the other 
towards the level land; the distant village of Hutton, with 
its quiet little life ; the bright inlet flowing on to the sea ; the 
boundless sea itself meeting the eastern horizon. Turning 
now towards the house, you see a succession of terraces reached 
by marble steps, and adorned with beautiful foreign trees and 
parterres of flowers. The front of the mansion is of white 
granite; the main building is largo and square, and flanked by 
two wings ; the house consists of three stories, with cellar and 
attic; through the centre of the main building, on each floor, 
runs a broad hall, ‘Sanked each side by doors admitting into 
vast, lofty, and luxuriously-furnished apartments — two on a 
suite, divided from each other by a curtained arch thus : On 
the first floor, on the north side of the broad hall, were tha 


MOUNT CALM. 


21 


Iwo parlours, separated and connected by a lofty arch, with 
crimson velvet curtains and gilt cornices ; on the soiiih side, 
the dining-room and the library were similarly divided. On 
the second floor, on the north side of the broad hall, the lady's 
bed-chamber and dressing-room were separated by/ an arch, 
hung with rose-coloured silk curtains ; on the sai^ floor, on 
the south side, was a corresponding suijbe The third story con- 
tained several handsomely-furnished /spari chan/bers. The 
wings that flanked the building wei^^Npi^c^iec^ as follows : 
the north wing had been designed for a>j^feturfe-^allery, with a 
sky-light, but was empty and closed u^^^he south wing com- 
prised a handsome saloon, opening upon \ conservatory, with 
a southern aspect. ; — * 

Behind the house was a greeni slope and a thick grove that 
concealed from view the extensive 'outbuildings connected 
with the establishment, and which scattered down the back 
slope of the hill, in something like this sjrder : — the kitchen 
and servants' apartment were nearest the mansion, then camo 
the wash-house, bake-house, meat-house, &c., all separate build- 
ings ; below these were the stables, kennels, hen-houses, and all 
sorts of houses and pens for all descriptions of farm stock and 
poultry; and still below these, and on every side below, were 
barns, granaries, corn-lofts, root-houses, winter 


and 

every kind of building for all manner of plantation produce. 
Extensive fields of corn, wheat, rye, oats, tobacco, &c., spread 
all over the undulatory land at the bottom. The estate itself 
comprised several thousands of the best acres in old St. 
Mary's county, and there were several hundred of them under 
the best cultivation, and in the richest state of productive- 


ness. 

This princely estate had remained in the possession of the 
Chesters since the first settlement of the country, and unlike 
the usual fate of old Maryland plantations, the property had 
not only been carefully preserved, but had steadily increased 
in value up to the time of the Kevolution, when it had reached 
its highest importance. 

The estate was then in the hands of Charles Chester, Esq., 
Justice of the Peace and Associate Judge of the Provincial 
Court. His family consisted of a wife, two sons, and a 
daughter. 

At the breaking out of the Revolution, Judge Chester and 
his two stalwart boys took the field among the first, and at the 
triumphant close of the war, Colonel Chester set out on his 


22 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


return home with a pair of epaulettes, minus his pair of 
goodly sons, who were left not only dead upon the field of 
glory, but buried with all the honours of victorious war upon 
^ the immortal plains of Yorktown. And thus it happened that 
the heirship of the heavy estate, with all its burden of onerous 
responsibilities, fell upon the frail shoulders of young Alice 
Chester, — a fair-skinned, golden-haired, blue-eyed girl of 
seventeen, the fairest, gentlest, and most fragile being that 
ever owed life to a stern and warlike sire. Alice living at 
home with her simple-hearted, domestic mother, had been very 
little noticed by her father, or even by any one else, until, by 
the death of his sons, she became the sole heiress of the vast 
estate, which was to prove the greatest misfortune of her life. 
For Alice, thus left to herself to find companionship, had been 
drawn into an attachment upon which the happiness of her 
whole future existence depended. Living with her mother a 
very secluded life during the absence of her father and bro- 
thers with the American army, Alice saw very little company 
as she grew up to womanhood, and her mind and heart began 
to throw out their feelers for knowledge and sympathy, even 
as a young and tender plant strikes out its roots for new 
nourishment. Their only visiters were a few quiet, domestic 
ladies of the neighbourhood, who, if the weather was very 
fine and tempting, would occasionally come with their knit- 
ting work, the baby and the black nurse, or perhaps with 
grandma and the two little girls, to spend the afternoon and 
take tea, and who would invariably depart before or at sunset. 

The long, long bleak winters were passed in almost inviola- 
ble seclusion, cheered only by an occasional letter from the 
army, and an occasional ride to church, if the road happened 
to be passable, which was very seldom the case. 

This life lasted until Alice was fifteen years of age, when 
an event occurred such as would make no stir at all in a city, 
but which will throw a quiet country neighbourhood into con- 
vulsions, namely — a change of ministry, not national but 
parochial ! The old parson, compelled by declining health, 
had departed to take charge of a congregation farther south, 
and a young parson had come in his stead. The E-everend 
Milton Sinclair was handsome, graceful, and accomplished. It 
is true, you think, these are positive faults in a young clergy- 
man, since it leads the susceptible and romantic among the 
young women of his charge to love the messenger more than 
Him whose message he bears, making the servant outrival the 


MOUNT CALM. 


23 


Master in the affections of a portion of his people; hat you 
will pardon the manly beauty, grace, and accomplishments of 
Milton Sinclair, when I tell you that these fascinating super- 
ficial accidents were overbalanced by a highly moral, intel- 
lectual, and religious tone of character. 

By the invitation of Mrs. Chester, the young minister be- 
came the temporary inmate of Mount Calm, and very much 
he entertained and instructed, cheered, and sustained the 
secluded mother and daughter. He became the almoner of 
the lady to the poor around. He directed and superintended 
the reading of Alice : introducing gradually, as her opening 
mind could bear, all the beauties and glories of science, his- 
tory, philosophy, and poetry. And above all were her re- 
ligious interests cared for, the duties of charity in its broadest 
sense, self-devotion, fortitude, patience, faith through life and 
unto death, hope within the very cannon’s mouth of despair, 
ail that is included in the golden rule of love to God and our 
neighbour, was cultivated in the genial soil of her soul. 

He impressed upon her that she it was to whom the tre- 
mendous trust of the ten talents had been confided, and of 
whom, therefore, double would be required. That God had 
not endowed her richly with every manner of good — in her 
worldly rank ; in hei social position ; in her domestic surround- 
ings ; in her physical health and beauty ; in her intellectual 
power — that she might live for herself alone, or even for those 
she Ipved, alone ; and above all — far above all — did he point 
her to the elevating truth that God had not so richly and 
gloriously endowed her with natural constitutional goodness, 
that she might rest indolently contented with even the high 
moral character that had been — like fortune, friends, intellect, 
and beauty — God’s free gift. No : he made her feel that 
“ of her to whom much had been given, much, very much, 
would be required.” 

And, oh ! how she loved to hear him talk ! how meekly she 
acquiesced in his truth that all the virtues for which she had 
been praised so much — ^if indeed she had any — were constitu- 
tional, and would not, and should not serve her in the great day 
of final account. And oh ! how her heart burned to show him 
the self-devotion, the patience, the fortitude of which it was 
capable ! Poor Alice, the opportunity was not long wanting ! 
and when it came — but of that more hereafter. 

When the spring opened, a visit from the bishop of the dio- 
cese was expected. Sinclair, as her pastor, began to prepare 


24 THE DISCARDED DAU^GHTER. 

Alice for the sacred rite of confirmation : praying with her, 
reading with her, directing her meditations, exhorting her to 
private prayer and self-examination j speaking to her also of 
the times when the newly enrolled Soldier of the Cross had to 
take up the burthen indeed ; when the sacred laying on of 
handa’^ — the benediction — the trust was the bond of union be- 
tween the apostle and his convert. 

Oh ! in after life, the desert of after life, the one 

“ Green spot on memory’s waste” 

was this sweet innocent season of early love and early religious 
fervour ! How slowly and softly their mutual love matured — 
how silently — gaining immortal life, while they scarcely sus- 
pected its existence, or at all recognised love under its true 
name and nature ! Alice, for her part, mistook it for a part of 
her religion ; and when she would go to church, in the most 
tempestuous weather, never surmised that she went as much 
to hear the preacher^s 

“ One loved voice” 

as to listen to the Word of God. On Sinclair’s side, 
he called it duty, pastoral care, &c., until one day he was 
aroused from his happy dream as by a thunder shock ! — and 
he knew that months before he should have gradually aban- 
doned his visits to Mount Calm, or obtained its master’s per- 
mission to continue them on a new and more intimate footing. 
He lost not an hour now in seeking the presence of Mrs. Chester, 
and informing her of his deep, unconquerable, eternal love of 
Alice, and placing his destiny in her hands. The lady set 
him at rest at once by telling him that she at least had known 
of this attachment for months past, that if she had not warmly 
approved it, she would have felt it her duty to have informed 
him long ago. She knew that his affection was appreciated 
and returned by Alice. She was very happy that it was so. 
She highly esteemed Mr. Sinclair as her minister, and should 
love him as a third son. It was the marriage she should most 
of all others desire for her sole daughter. She told him, how- 
ever, that the final decision must rest with her father, and ad- 
vised him to write immediately to Colonel Chester. 

Sinclair did so, conscientiously awaiting her father’s letter, 
before addressing Alice. 

Colonel Chester’s letter came. His reply was highly fa- 
vourable. If the affections of Alice were interested, if hei 


MOUNT CALM. 


25 

mother’s approval and consent had been obtained, if the refer- 
ences given answered his expectations, why then let Sinclair 
proceed in his wooing, and Grod prosper him in his suit ! The 
match, in a worldly point of view, was certainly as good a one 
as Alice could reasonably expect. Alice’s prospects were as- 
suredly not of the first order. She had two brothers, between 
whom the Mount Calm estate would be divided. Her own 
dower would be very moderate, and paid down at her marriage : 
beyond that she must expect nothing. He preferred, how- 
ever, that the marriage should not take place during his ab- 
sence ; Sinclair might go on with his wooing, and take care of 
Alice and her mother, until his return, when, if nothing 
should happen to prevent it, he should take pleasure in be- 
stowing the hand of his daughter on one so worthy to receive it. 

Milton Sinclair was happy ! Oh ! how happy he was I At 
that moment he was almost an infidel to the Scripture truth 
of the Curse. At that moment — and from that moment for 
several weeks and months afterwards — he could not — ^no, for 
his soul’s salvation he could not — have preached t sermon in 
which was one single element of original sin, total depravity, 
the wrath of Grod, and eternal perdition. No ; from that mo- 
ment, for weeks and months after, his themes were Faith, 
Hope, and Charity ; Grace, Mercy, and Peace ; Peace on Earth 
and Good Will to Man ; the Love of God j the Glory of Ke- 
demptionj the Immortality of the Soul; the Eternal Joys of 
Heaven. / 

Milton Sinclair took the letter, and hastened with it to Mrs. 
Chester. The lady read it, and, smiling, returned it to him, 
telling him that Alice was in the garden. 

He hurried thither, and found Alice watering her fiowers. 
He led her to a rustic seat, placed the letter in her hand, and 
seated himself by her side, watching her as she read it. When 
she had finished it, he drew her, blushing, to his bosom, and 
called her his wife ! his dear wife ! his wife for earth and for 
Heaven ! the crowning gift of God I And this was the man- 
ner of his first declaration of love. And this the manner of 
her modest, quiet acceptance. They were blessed ; so blessed ! 
too blessed for any more words ! There is one moment in the 
lives of ally perhaps, when the fullness of joy almost breaks 
the heart. Such a moment had come for them now. This 
was that marriage of Heaven — the highest mutual love united 
and exalted into religion ! the highest human love cemented 
and elevated to Divine ! 


26 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


There is a legal punishment for those who sever wedded 
hands ; let all beware of the frightful retribution that here or 
hereafter may overwhelm those who sever wedded souls ! for 
they indeed have put asunder ^ those’ whom God had joined 
together.” 

They were blessed ; they were happy ! When loving each 
other most, they loved God most. The soul incapable of love, 
IS still more incapable of religion — ^nay, love often elevates the 
irreligious into the worshipper. Love can redeem any soul ; 
it was LOVE that gave itself for all souls ! Love is religion — 
for God is Love.” 

Their love was not extravagant or excitable ; it grew calm, 
profound, soul-satisfying. There was no doubt or fear ! They 
said ay ! and felt that hearts, united by a love like theirs, sus- 
tained by a faith like theirs, might do all things ! And they 
planned — Oh ! how they planned ! not for themselves, but for 
others ; for all whom they might possibly serve ; the poor, the 
sick, the sorrowing, the ignorant, and the vicious. They seemed 
to apologize for so much happiness to a world shadowed with 
suffering, by resolving that no sorrow should remain unmiti- 
gated, which they by effort or by sacrifice might ameliorate. 
There was no selfishness in their hearts, for there was no want. 
They possessed all things in each other and in God. How 
sincerely they pitied all who were not loving and beloved as 
they were ! who were not fervent, soul worshippers of God, as 
they were. And this was not egotism ; they were not egotists ; 
the fullness of life, the fullness of content, the beauty of love, 
the glory of faith, shut out SELF-like, “in-like Satan. They 
thought, not of themselves, but of each other, and of all others. 
Their love, their piety, their happiness lit up the dark house 
everywhere. 

Mrs. Chester watched them with pleasure, mingled with 
subdued wonder ; such had not been her own experience in 
affairs of the heart. Hers had been a marriage of convenience, 
followed by an affection of propinquity and of habit, and had 
so far proved tolerable as the world goes. And she watched 
these lovers with quiet, but delightful surprise, and she blessed 
them a thousand times! blessed them as we bless happy, 
young children — because they are blessed already ! And 
woman-like, mother-like, she busied herself in thinking of all 
their future interests, in seeking the influence of the most im- 
portant of the country gentry, and of the church vestry, to have 
Sinclair’s temporary appointment to their parish confirmed into 


TUE NEW SUITOR. 


27 


u permanent one, and in this she succeeded. Then she occu- 
pied herself in seeking a site for their parsonage, and planning 
a model for the house; in ordering furniture from the Northern 
cities, which was to be paid for from her own private purse, in 
order to leave Alice’s moderate dower entire, to be put out at 
interest, and to avoid subtracting from Sinclair’s very mode- 
rate salary. Finally, she set her maids to work carding, spin- 
ning, knitting, weaving, and sewing, that Alice might have a 
full supply of every description of household cloth and linen. 
The bride’s trousseau was the last thing thought of, and there 
was time enough she thought for that when her father should 
arrive. She did not know when that would be, but it was well 
to have everything that took a great deal of time and labour, 
such as the house and furniture, and the household stuff ready 
— ^as for the wedding-dresses, and other minor preparations, of 
course they could, and must be deferred, until Colonel Chester’s 
arrival, and then they could be speedily got up. 

It was in the midst of this domestic happiness, this great, in- 
tense joy and hope, that the thunderbolt fell I 


CHAPTER II. 

THE NEW SUITOR. 

How ! Will she none ? Doth she not give us thanks ? 

Is she not proud ? Doth she not count her blessed, 

Unworthy as she is, that we have wrought 
So worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom ? 

Shakspeakb. 

First came the news of the glorious victory of Yorktown— * 
the final and signal triumph of the American arms. There 
were no railroads and telegraphic wires in those days, and very 
few newspapers. The report, the re-echo of this splendid vic- 
tory rolled on towards their quiet neighbourhood like a storm ; 
in clouds of doubt, in thunder and lightning of astonishment, 
joy, and mad triumph. The most delirious rejoicing con- 
vulsed the whole village and neighbourhood for days, Ijefore 
any newspaper arrived with an account of the battle. 

And the same mail that brought the ?^-»wspaper, with a long 


28 THE DISCAHHED DAUaHTEB. 

account of tlie battle, headed in great capital letters line below 
line, brought also a letter sealed with black ; that sped like a 
bullet through the foreboding heart of Mrs. Chester, a letter 
from Colonel Chester, announcing the glorious death of his 
two brave sons upon the field of victory ; and, oh ! there was 
less of the father’s love and regret, the husband’s tenderness 
and sympathy, and the Christian’s resignation, than the sol- 
dier’s martial pride, in the spirit of the Ihtter. 

Nor can we blame him much ; that was a time, that was 
a cause in which men made haste to peril not only their 
own lives, but those they held dearest on earth, and could see 
their best beloved fall, yet scarcely wait to ^‘bury vheir 
dead.” 

But Mrs. Chester was overwhelmed with grief by the two- 
fold bereavement, the fall of both her gallant sons, of whom 
she was as proud as fond. 

She did not dream of the calamity, worse than death, that 
had befallen Alice, in the disguise of a princely inheritance, 
destined to darken her whole life with sorrow, while it mocked 
her in the face of the world with its unreal light and splendour. 
No ! she was too much borne down by grief to think of Alice, 
or her change of fortune, at all. 

Nor did Alice once remember it. She was almost stupefied 
by the effect of such sudden sorrow falling upon so much 

Nor did Milton Sinclair once recollect it. In those first 
days of bitter lamentations and wailings, the young minister 
visited and sought to sustain, soothe, and console the bereaved 
mother and sister, never calculating how tremendously, or 
how fatally this calamity might affect his own destiny, as 
Colonel Chester might choose to view it. On the one hand, 
endowing him with untold wealth, on the other, depriving him 
of the only wealth he coveted, his fair, gentle, and fragile 
Alice. 

But there was one who was not so forgetful — Colonel Ches- 
ter. He was still with the army, but another letter was received 
from him, announcing his speedy return home, accompanied 
by his friend and companion in arms. General Garnet, a young 
officer, who, though but thirty years of age, had risen to the 
highest rank in the army, and won an immortal fame. No 
doubt, he wrote that Mrs. Chester and her daughter knew 
General Garnet by his wide celebrity, and would be proud to 


THE NEW SUITOR. 


2D 

make liis personal acquaintance. They would therefore, he 
requested, prepare to receive him with all honour. 

Mrs. Chester was incapable of hospitable thoughts as of 
domestic cares. One fatal regret filled her heart. She had 
not left her darkened chamber since the first news of her 
heavy bereavement had sent her there overwhelmed with 
affliction. Alice, advised and assisted by the young minister, 
did everything possible to get things in readiness for the 
reception of her father and his distinguished guest. 

Colonel Chester came at length, accompanied by General 
Garnet. He met Alice with great empressement — for it was 
scarcely great affection — praised her growth and her beauty, 
introduced General Garnet, and, excusing himself, passed to 
the sick chamber of his wife. 

Left alone with her guest, Alice examined him, shyly, with 
the curiosity of a woman, and the bashfulness of a country 
girl. General Garnet certainly possessed, in its highest 
degree, V air noble et distingu6. He was what young ladies 
call a fine, military-looking man. He certainly had a fine, 
martial figure and bearing, or that which is our ideal of it — - 
a tall and elegantly proportioned figure, a calm, majestic car- 
riage, yet withal suggestive of great reposing strength and fire. 
His fine, clear cut classic features were surrounded by the 
softest, silkiest, blackest hair and whiskers — or rather they 
usually seemed the blackest; — they were, in reality, of the 
darkest, deepest, yet most fiery auburn, black as midnight in 
the shade, but reddening into threads of fire where the sun 
struck — singular hair ! but characteristic I He had eyes akin 
to his hair — hazel eyes, soft, gentle, but smouldering, and 
upon occasion, beaming with a lurid fire, or flashing with a 
fierce, terrible light. His lips, for the exquisite beauty of 
their curve, fullness, and colour, might have seemed effeminate, 
but for the dark moustache. His teeth were very fine, and 
his smile so beautiful and charming, that few could resist its 
j)ower. His voice was perfect harmony itself. His manner 
vras dignified and imposing, or graceful, earnest, and seductive. 
Yet, sometimes, one ki a sudden, vague astonishment, would 
feel that he was a man who could unite the utmost inflexibility 
and even cruelty of purpose with the mo^t graceful and 
gracious urbanity of manner. With all his marvellous powers 
of fascination, he was a man to darken, chill, repel a bright- 
spirited, warm-souled, pure-hearted girl like Alice. Yet she 
did the honours of her father’s house to her father’s guest 
2 


80 


HE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


until that guest merged into the lover, and then Alice felt 
and betrayed the utmost soul-sickened repugnance to him and 
his suit. 

It was now that the object of Colonel Chester in inviting 
this distinguished visiter to Mount Calm became evident — 
that of bestowing the hand of his daughter and heiress upon 
him. 

After a conversation with Greneral Garnet he sent for Alice, 
and, without any preface at all, bade her make up her mind 
to a speedy marriage with the husband he had chosen for her, 
his distinguished and dear friend. General Garnet. 

Stunned and bewildered, Alice at first 

“Never fancied such a thing 
As answer possible to give I ” 

But then, after a while, modestly, timidly she spoke of her 
engagement to Milton Sinclair. Her engagement to Milton 
Sinclair I pooh, pooh ! — pooh, pooh ! — folly ! She must never 
think of him again. Above all, she must never refer to him 
or their little childish engagement in General Garnetts pre- 
sence, who would highly disapprove of it. Besides, there was 
710 engagement I nonsense ! ridiculous i preposterous ! utterly 
preposterous I and let him hear no more of it. There was, at 
most, only a — a — a conditional — a — a — a — but let him hear 
no more of it I Milton Sinclair would never have the audacity, 
the insolence, the impudence^ to presume that now — the d — ^1 ! 
if he should, his holy cloth should not protect him from chas- 
tisement 1 

Alice sat pale, stupefied, with one cold hand laid over the 
other on her lap. Her quiescent attitude deceived Colonel 
Chester, for he did not look at her closely enough to see the 
deathly paleness of her face, and the utter despair of its whole 
expression. He could not comprehend her feeling any more 
than she could understand his want of it. 

Come, Alice,” he said, times and circumstances are 
changed ; there is a vast difference, let mo inform you, between 
the position and privileges of a moderately dowered girl, and 
a young lady who is to inherit such an estate as Mount Calm.^ 
You may now make one of the most distinguished alliances in 
the country. General Garnet, it is true, has no fortune, but 
a name among the most glorious in the land. Think of what 
% marriage !” 


THE NEW SUITOR. 81 

But Alice was incapable of thought — almost of feeling — all 
was hard despair, stupor, torpor. 

There — you may go now, Alice,^^ said Colonel Chester, 
still deceived, ^^and be thankful that your father had too much 
thought and care for you to throw you away upon a poor 
country parson.^^ 

Alice passed from the room, mechanically pressing her 
hands to her temples, trying to awake as from a heart-sicken- 
ing dream. And so she passed to her now frequent post of 
duty, her declining mother’s darkened room and sick bed. 
The senses, or the intuitions, or the instincts of those on the 
confines of the unseen world, are sometimes preternaturally 
acute. There was that in the falling footstep, in the very 
form and bearing of Alice as she glided through the shadows 
of that dark room, that revealed to the mother the existence 
of some heavy cloud teeming with sorrow, that was ready to 
burst upon the devoted head of her child. 

She called Alice to her bedside, took her hand in her gentle 
grasp, looked with wondering sadness into her eyes — her eyes 
set in the stare of blank stupor — murmured, tenderly, 

What is the matter, Alice ? Tell your mother ?” 

Her mother’s loving voice and touch unsealed the spell- 
bound founts of tears and speech. 

‘‘ Oh ! mother ! mother I I am ruined ! ruined !” she 
wildly gasped, and sinking down upon the floor, dropped her 
head upon the bed with hysterical sobs, and gasps, and in- 
articulate wailings. 

Her mother laid her gentle hand upon her child’s burning 
and throbbing head, and raised her tender eyes in silent prayer 
for her, while this storm raged, and until it passed, and Alice, 
exhausted, but calm, was able to rise, sit by her side, and 
while she held her hand, tell her what had happened. 

I will speak to him, Alice,” she then said I will tell 
him how you and Sinclair love each other — as you could not 
tell him, my child. I will show him how vain — oh ! how 
vain ! are wealth, and rank, and honour, and glory, in the 
hour of grief, by the bed of death, in the presence of God ! 
how love, and truth, and faith are all in all ! Yes ! and I 
will make him feel it, too. And though he should not realize 
it as I do — yet he will never refuse me a request now !” Sho 
did not say all that she meant — she did not say ^‘he will 
never refuse my last dying request.” Noj not for all the 
world contained would she have added the grief of those words 


82 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


to the burden of sorrow under which Alice bent. It was thus 
that she, weakest and most helpless in the house, from her 
dying bed sustained and comforted her daughter. “I will 
not speak to him now, Alice, it would not be wise, my child ; 
but to-morrow, early to-morrow morning I will see him. Be 
patient and hopeful, my child ! All must be well.'^ 

And the next morning, directly after breakfast. Colonel 
Chester received a message from his wife, requesting him to 
come to her room for a few minutes if convenient, as she 
wished to speak with him. 

Colonel Chester went. What passed at that interview no 
one knew more than what might be guessed from what fol- 
lowed. 

Colonel Chester came out of the room, banging the door 
after him, with a half muttered imprecation upon sickly 
fancies,’^ irritable nerves, and foolish women.^^ But im- 
mediately after this interview, Mrs. Chester became much 
worse ; her fever rose to delirium, and she was alarmingly ill 
for several days. Milton Sinclair heard of her state, and little 
suspecting the cause, came to see her. He was met by Colonel 
Chester, who informed him that his wife was too ill to receive 
even her pastor, and requested him to walk into the library. 
There Colonel Chester informed him that circumstances had 
occurred which made it his painful duty to beg that Mr. Sin- 
clair would temporarily suspend his visits to Mount Calm. 

Alice exclaimed the young man. That name contained 
everything, and rendered a full explanation indispensable. 
It was given. 

Deadly pale, Sinclair walked up and down the floor, press- 
ing his head tightly between his two palms and groaning — 
groaning the name, the prayer that in the bitterest agony of 
the soul, starts to every lip. 

My God ! oh ! my God ! have pity on me ! God have 
mercy on me 

The heart-broken tone of these words touched even that 
hard man of the world, Colonel Chester. 

Come, come, Sinclair, you must ha.ve been prepared for 
this for some months past, I did not violently and at once 
separate you from Alice, when I first came home j although 
you must have known that all our plans were changed. I 
gave you time to wean yourself gradually off. In other cir- 
cumstances, indeed, I should have felt myself most honoured, 
most happy in the alliance ; but we do not control our own 


THE NEW SUITOR. 


83 


destinies. You, as a Christian, should know, that though 
* man proposes, God disposes he had the impiety to say. 
‘‘Come, come, Sinclair; this is unmanly — unchristian — un- 
worthy of a Christian clergyman ! Come, come, you will soon 
get over this. There is no girl in the world worthy of a 
brave man’s — I beg your pardon — I mean a good man’s last- 
ing regret. You will soon forget Alice/’ 

And more doubtless of this miserable balderdash he would 
have inflicted upon the suffering Sinclair, but at the name of 
Alice — the only word he heard of the whole worthy exordium 
— the magic word — he suddenly arrested his wild walk, and 
standing before Colonel Chester, said, in a deep and husky 
tone, 

“ Alice, then, what of her ? what did she say ? how did sh« 
bear this ? or does she know it at all ?” 

“ Alice. Oh ! Alice, yes ! Alice knows all about it ! I 
spoke to her several days ago ! She acquiesces very quietly, 
as in duty bound.” 

“ How is she ?” 

“ Perfectly well, I believe.” 

Sinclair seized his hat, and darted from the room. 

Colonel Chester followed him, saying — 

“ Just as soon as this affair is over, Mr. Sinclair, I shall 
feel proud and happy to see you again.” 

But Sinclair was already down the terrace, and pushing on 
around the circular avenue towards the outer gate. He did 
not foster one single doubt or fear of Alice’s love^ and fidelity 
— it was not the last reply of Colonel Chester that sent him 
off. No ! but he needed solitude, silence, self-communion, 
prayer ! The blow had fallen so suddenly ; so terribly ! he 
had not been — as Colonel Chester affected to believe — prepared 
for it months before ; there had been nothing in the manner 
of any member of the family to lead him to believe that he 
stood in a different and more distant relation to them now 
than formerly. Colonel Chester, upon his arrival, had met 
him with great cordiality; and up to this hour, had continued 
to treat him with friendship. And if he said nothing to the 
father of the promised marriage that was to have been solem- 
nized on his return, it was in respect to the recent heavy 
bereavement, and consequently deep affliction of the family. 
No ; he was utterly unprepared for this blow, and which had 
fallen upon a confiding and reposing trust. A feeling of in- 
dignation arose in the midst of this sorrow indignation at 


34 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


his bitter wrong ! Had he not been a Christian minister, 
inured from his very infancy to patience, f(^titude, self-go- 
vernment, and resignation, he might have broken out into 
unseemly and extravagant demonstrations of grief and anger. 
As it was, he walked on wildly until he passed the gate, and 
entered the thick woods, and striking into a narrow by-path, 
hid himself in the forest, waiting for his chaos of thought and 
emotion to separate and clear. Two things he resolved on — 
first, though heart and brain should give way, not to take 
Alice without her father’s consent ; second, to spare no pains 
to win that consent — to let neither despair nor pride prevent 
his suing for it. 


CHAPTER III. 

THE husband’s AND THE FATHER’S TYRANNY. 

An thou he mine, I’ll give thee to my friend ! 

An thou be not, hang, beg, starve, die i’ the streets, 

Nor what is mine shall ever do thee good. 

Trust to it, bethink you I I’ll not be forsworn ! 

Shakspeabb. 

In the mean time, Alice was occupied with her mother. 
Mrs. Chester was better ; her fever had subsided, and her in- 
tellect grown clear again ; but she was very feeble. She 
would take the hand of Alice and press it, looking on her with 
her large eyes full of tenderness, compassion, and prayer; but 
no word was spoken between them of her interview with 
Colonel Chester, or of the subject that had given rise to it. 
Alice feared to ask, and her mother had nothing hopeful to 
tell. One day she took Alice’s hand, as was her wont, now 
that she was able to converse a little, and said — 

Alice, I have never yet seen General Garnet — ^but from 
all I have ever heard of men, a gallant officer must be an hon- 
ourable man. Send him to me, Alice; I will tell him of 
your engagement to Milton Sinclair — of your undying mutual 
affection, and of my wish that the marriage should take place; 
yes, before my — I mean very soon — and he cannot after that 
press upon you his most unwelcome suit.” 

‘ Unwelcome I’ Oh, mother, that is not the term ! When 
I tell you that it is revolting, disgusting, horrible to me, I 


THE husband's TYRANNY. 


35 


iiave not given you any idea of the sickening of heart and sou« 
L feel when he even smiles on me ! And they say he has a 
beautiful and charming smile, too ! It does not charm me, 
mother. If he only knew its hideous effect upon me, he 
would never smile, mother. But I agitate you with my talk, 
dear mother. It was involuntary. I am so sorry, mother I’* 
She pressed the hand of Alice, and sent her on the errand. 
Alice found General Garnet reading in the library. She 
went up to him fearfully, and with pale cheek and averted 
eyes, and with a scarcely audible voice, said — 

My mother wants to speak with you, General Garnet.^^ 
He turned with a warm smile at the sound of Alice's voice; 
arose, bowed, and seemed to await her commands — while, 
in reality, he was reading her soul. 

My mother wishes to see you in her room, General Gar- 
net. Will you let me show you the way V’ 

With a peculiar smile lurking about the corners of his 
mouth, he said, 

I shall do myself the honour of waiting on Mrs. Chester 
Jraost immediately, and," added he, advancing to meet his 
host, who was just entering the room, ‘‘I will request my 
good friend to accompany and present me. Colonel Chester, 
your lady has done me the honour of requiring my presence 
in her apartment this morning, for an interview ; will you do 
me the favour to introduce me 

With a start of surprise, and a flush of displeasure. Colonel 
Chester replied — 

I do not think Mrs. Chester at all in a condition to receive 
visiters then, after a moment of silence and reflection, with 
a sarcastic smile, he rang the bell, and said to the servant who 
answered it — ^^Go to your mistress’s apartment, give my 
compliments, and ask after her health, and whether she will 
now receive General Garnet and myself.'^ 

The man bowed, and disappeared. 

Alice sank into a chair, shuddering and dismayed. She 
saw that both General Garnet and her father had penetrated 
the motive of her poor mother, and she comprehended, under 
all their courtesy of manner, the policy of both. Soon the 
servant returned with Mrs. Chester’s compliments, but she 
was not well enough to receive them. 

You see, my dear General, that you will have tD defer 
your visit; very much, no doubt, to Mrs. Chester’s regret, 


36 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


who would feel honoured in showing you any respect 5 cer 
tainly very much to mine/^ 

Alice arose to leave the room. 

Stop, my dear Alice V* said her father. 

Alice stopped. 

General, have you succeeded yet in persuading this shy 
girl to fix the day of her marriage 

I have not that happiness yet. I have never ceased to 
hope and strive for it, Miss Chester — and he advanced and 
took the hand of Alice, who drew it from him quickly, and 
turned away, pale as death. 

General Garnet assumed a look of despair. 

see how it isl’^ said her father, ^^she is troubled in a 
two-fold manner, with maiden modesty and rustic shyness. I 
must come to her relief, and answer for her. Well, as she 
has teased us so long with delay, and as her mother’s delicate 
health, and the circumstances generally of the family, preclude 
the possibility 0* a wedding festival, why let the marriage 
ceremony be performed very quietly on this day week !” 

General Garnet bowed deeply, with a highly gratified air, 
and once more approached and took the hand of Alice, to ad- 
dress her, but her hand sprung from his clasp of itself, like a 
teiTor-stricken bird might do ; and she darted out of the room. 
Sinclair I Sinclair I Where in the world was he ? Where 
had he been so many days? Why did he not come? She 
would have given the world to have seen him. 

She did not know that he had been forbidden the house. 
She was totally ignorant of everything that had passed between 
her father and himself. She walked wildly about the house 
and grounds ; instinctively avoiding her feeble mother’s room, 
lest, in her present distracted state, she should kill her with 
agitation ; afraid of meeting her father, and doubly afraid of 
encountering General Garnet, and wishing and praying — oh ! 
praying, as if for dear life, that she might meet Sinclair. 

By noon her state had almost reached a nervous delirium, 
in which the shuddering fears of the victim, and the fastidious 
delicacy of tho woman, were alike forgotten — and she hastened 
to seek the very man she had so fearSilly avoided : to tell him 
of her long engagement to Sinclair, once sanctioned by her 
father— of her undying love, and to throw herself upon his 
mercy. 

She found General Garnet ; she told him her story with the 
bulging eloquence inspired by passion and sorrow exalted 


THE husband’s TYRANNY. 


87 


uearly to insanity. In vain ! in vain ! General Garnet was 
politely attentive, elegantly self-possessed, but inflexibly firm, 
and would even have attempted to soothe an anguish like hers 
with his serpent embrace and venomed kiss ; but, half frantic, 
she sprung from his arms, and fled from the room. That 
afternoon she wrote a wild letter to Milton Sinclair, illegible 
and unintelligible every way except in this — that he must 
^‘come to Mount Calm immediately.^^ She sent the letter off, 
and walked up and down her chamber, trying to get calm 
enough to go and see her mother. While thus employed, a 
message reached her from her mother, desiring her to come to 
her room. Alice went immediately. As she entered the 
dark chamber, Mrs. Chester called her up to the side of her 
bed ; she saw that her mother’s countenance had changed 
fearfully since the morning, and now a new terror and remorse 
seized her heart; she was about to speak when Mrs. Chester 
said — 

Alice, you look frightfully pale and haggard, my dear 
child. Alice, we were foiled this morning. Your father has 
been here, and told me all about it — the projected marriage in 
a week, and all — but do not fear, my dear child, you shall not 
be sacrificed, it is not right. I have sent a message to Mr. 
Sinclair to come here this evening. He has not been here for 
some time, and when he comes I must have a talk with him.” 

At this moment a servant entered the chamber, to whom 
Mrs. Chester turned, saying, 

Milly, mix a teaspoonful of ether with a little water, and 
hand it to Miss Alice. She is not well. You must take it, 
Alice, dear, you are really very ill, and it will compose your 
nerves.” 

Mr. Sinclair is down stairs, madam, and wants to know 
if he may come up,” said the girl, as she handed the glass to 
Alice. 

Alice dropped the glass, untasted. 

Where is General Garnet ?” said Mrs. Chester. 

In the library, writing, madam.” 

Where is Colonel Chester ?” 

Gone out, riding, madam.” 

Thank Heaven ! Yes, request Mr. Sinclair to come up, 
Milly.” 

After the departure of the girl, the mother and daughter 
remained in silent expectation At last the light, quick foot- 
«tcp of Sinclair was heard upon the stairs. 


38 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


Gro and meet him, Alice, my darling,’^ said the mother, 
with a smile. 

Alice arose, and as he opened the door, and advanced into the 
room, started forward and threw herself sleeping into his arms. 
What could he do but press her to his bosom ? Then he led 
her back to her mother’s bedside — stooped over the sick lady, 
taking her hand, and inquiring, tenderly, respectfully, after 
her health of body and soul. While she was making her gen- 
tle, patient reply, the attention of all three was arrested by 
the sound of a high and angry voice below, followed by the 
noise of heavy, hurried footsteps hastening up the stairs. 

It is your father, Alice ! oh ! G-od, save us !” exclaimed 
Mrs. Chester, just as Colonel Chester, with one violent kick 
of his boot, stove open the door, and purple, and convulsed with 
rage, stood among them. 

‘‘ Who admitted this man ? Who sent for him V* he de- 
manded, in a furious voice. 

I did. I sent for him,’’ said the mother, pale with feai 
and feebleness, but wishing to shield her daughter. 

“ I did ! I wrote him a note,” murmured the daughter in a 
dying voice, sick with terror, but wishing to save her mother. 

^‘Traitors 1 Shameless household traitors! so there area 
pair of you ! a desirable wife and daughter ! a very suitable 
mother and daughter ! but I’ll find a way to punish you both. 

Here he was interrupted by Sinclair, who, turning to him, 
said, in a composed but stern voice, 

Colonel Chester, visit your anger and reproaches upon 
me, who knew of your prohibition, not upon those who possi- 
bly knew nothing about it.” 

“ You have the insolence to tell me, sir, to remind me that 
you knew of my prohibition to cross my threshold ! while 
standing here in my house, in the very heart of my house, my 
wife’s bed-chamber 1” exclaimed Colonel Chester, furiously. 

In your wife’s sick chamber, sir, where, as a Christian 
minister, it is my bounden duty sometimes to come.” 

And, d you, from whence I’ll put you outj” exclaimed 

the infuriated man. 

“I will go. Grood-evening, Mrs. Chester; good-evening, 
Alice. I leave you in the care of Heaven,” said Sinclair, 
wishing, by all means, to avoid the disgrace of a struggle. 

Go I what, go quietly like an honoured guest dismissed ? 
No, d vou, you came surreptitiously, and you shall depart 


THE husband’s TYRANNY. 


39 


involuntarily. No, d you, T will put you out !” vociferated 

the maniac in an ungovernable fury, springing upon Sinclair. 

A violent struggle ensued. Sinclair acted entirely upon 
the defensive, saying, continually, as he could make himself 
heard, 

Colonel Chester, let me go ! I will leave quietly ; I would 
have done so at first.^^ 

And now the deathly grip and struggle went on in silence, 
interrupted only by the short, curt, hissing exclamations of 
the enraged man through his now whitened lip and clenched 
teeth. Sinclair was half the age and double the weight and 
strength of his opponent, and would easily have mastered him, 
but did not want the odium of doing it. 

While wrestling desperately on the defensive, he expostu- 
lated once more : ' 

Colonel Chester — ^not for my sake, but for you own — for 
your family’s, for honour’s sake, let me depart in peace !” 

“ Ah ! villain,” exclaimed the madman, finding his strength 
failing, and suddenly drawing a pistol, he pointed it at Sin- 
clair’s temple and fired. Sinclair suddenly started, and the 
bullet went through the window shattering the glass. Chester 
now raised the spent pistol and aimed with it a violent blow 
upon Sinclair’s head. Sinclair quickly caught his descending 
hand, when^ — 

A power more awful than the judge’s baton, the monarch’s 
sceptre, or the priest’s elevated crucifix, arrested the combat. 

Death stood in their presence ! A cry of mortal anguish 
from Alice caused both to turn and look — both to drop their 
hold — and stand like conscience-stricken culprits ! 

There lay Mrs. Chester, the gentle, patient, long-suffering 
woman, stricken down, dying in her daughter’s arms. 

Colonel Chester came to his senses at once, feeling all the 
horror and remorse of a murderer. 

And Sinclair repented from his soul that he liad not per- 
mitted himself to be expelled from the house with every spe- 
cies of ignominy, rather than to have seen this. 

That ashen brow — those fixed eyes — that silent tongue, and 
quick, gasping breath ! that face of the dying ! it would never 
depart from his memory. Oh ! any personal indignity rather 
than this memory ! if he could but save her ! but she was be- 
yond all help now — for — even as full of sorrow and remorse 
he gazed — with a long, deep sigh, as for the pilgrims she left 
behind on earth, her spirit passed to God. 


40 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


Sinclair bore Alice fainting from the room. 

Colonel Chester fell down on his knees, dropping his head 
upon the bed, and throwing his arms over his dead wife in a 
paroxysm of remorse and despair, ungovernable as his rage 
had been, and, alas ! nearly as transient ! 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE MADNESS AND FLIGHT OF ALICE. 

Oh ! bid me leap, rather than marry Paris, 

From off the battlements of yonder tower. — Shakspeake, 

Now see that noble and most sovereign reason 
Like sweet bells jangled out of tune and harsh ! 

That unmatched form and feature of blown youth 
Blasted with ecstasy ! — Ibid. 

There is scarcely a more terrible moral ordeal than that al- 
lotted in the possession of almost absolute power, even where it 
exists within a limited space, and over a limited number of peo- 
ple. There is scarcely anything so brutalizing. And it is only 
character of the highest moral tone that can resist its evil in- 
fluence. It tends to harden the most tender heart, and to 
indurate the hardest. Pride rises into arrogance. Insen- 
sibility becomes cruelty. Self-will grows to tyranny. That 
which was mere inequality of temper, becomes ungovernable 
violence. Even superficial good manners, that for some time 
covered from the world all this moral deformity, as a decent 
garment may cover physical ugliness, is thrown aside, and the 
tyrant exhibits, upon occasions, as much injustice, contempt, 
and violence to others, as he has always shown to his wife, his 
children, and his slaves. For absolute power intoxicates, 
maddens, and brutalizes like strong drink; and it is so far 
worse in its effects, as it is not an acute, but a chrcnic drunk- 
enness — and, worst of all, as it never kills its subject, and 
thus relieves his victims. It is- true that there are but few 
cases among the planters of Maryland where the gift of power 
has been so abused. Still I have knowq. two instances, and 
heard of others, where the husband, father, and master has 
been more terrible in his family, more terrible on his planta- 


THE FLIGHT OF ALICE. 


41 


vion, than any Eastern despot ; and it is precisely these men, 
and such as these, that bring an odium upon a class distin- 
guished for gallantry, generosity, benevolence, magnanimity, 
and all Christian and chivalric virtues. 

The Chester family had been a fair specimen of the emi- 
grant cavalier character : loyal, bravo, and generous, but rash, 
excitable, and extravagant to the last degree; a union, or, 
rather a discord, of high virtues and great faults. But in the 
moral ordeal through which their generations passed ; in the 
powerful temptations by which they were tested — first by the 
license of a new country, and an unsettled provincial govern- 
ment — then by the nearly absolute power of the extensive 
planter and numerous slaveholder ; their virtues declined, 
while their faults increased. Men like the Chesters, men of 
absolute self-will and violent temper, are usually attracted to 
women of the gentlest and most submissive natures. And 
such women had the Chesters always married. And the con- 
stant unreasoning submission of such patient Grriseldas, of 
course fostered the faults in the father, without modifying 
them in the son, since it is always the parent of the stronger 
nature that transmits the character to the children. It was 
owing to these causes that Colonel Chester was the worst as 
well as the last of his ancient, high-toned, and chivalrous race. 
And this accounts for the violent scene I have just described. 

Death, sickness, calamity, in their usual forms, we recog- 
nise and receive as coming from Omniscient wisdom and love, 
and we bow to the dispensation with more or less of reverence 
and resignation. But when the ungovernable vpassions or 
fiendish selfishness of others, when pride, ambition, avarice, 
treachery, cruelty, trample down into dust our most sacred 
rights, and lay waste our holiest affections ; then we cannot 
recognise Q-od’s hand in man’s cruelty. We even wonder at 
His non-interference. We even doubt if it be not blasphemy 
to say of our sorrow, that ^^it is the will of Grod.^^ We can- 
not separate the sin of the aggressor from the suffering of the 
aggressed, and say that G-od willed the effect, when it would 
be impious to say He willed the cause. The head may never 
understand it. And it takes the awful mystery of Gethsemane 
and the Divine Kevelation of the Mount of Ascension to teach 
the heart the truth — the truth that the final act of life’s fear- 
ful drama belongs to another state of existence, and that the 
curtain of death will rise upon the denouement. 

After this terrible family storm, in which pcfor Mrs. CheH- 


42 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


ter's vital powers had suddenly failed, the peace stern death 
enforces reigned through the house. Alice, her heart and 
brain overturned by endurance, lay exhausted, almost insensi- 
ble, upon her bed within her chamber. One day, as she 
lay there in the shadowy room, with her hands covering her 
face, quite still, as she had been lying for hours, she suddenly 
became aware — not by sight, hearing, or touch, but by a 
strange exaltation and fervour of spirit — of a Holy Presence 
above her, surrounding, enveloping her, as with a warm, lu- 
minous atmosphere, and the voice of her mother, silvery, and 
sweet, and soft, and liquid as the breaking of water-bubbles, 
saying— 

Alice, grieve no more ! The soul is immortal — from 
eternity to eternity. It is from God, without beginning and 
without end. This life is but a dream, and if the dream be- 
come painful beyond endurance, the Guardian Angel of Sleep, 
the beautiful Angel of Death, will touch you on your broW; 
and you will awaken — ^to your true and immortal life. So ii 
was with me ; so, dreamer, will it be with you.^^ 

And the vision passed, leaving a strange peace in its stead. 
In after years, this was ascribed to nervous excitement; but 
there were moments when Alice held the vision to be no phe- 
nomenon of nervous delirium, but a holy and beautiful revela- 
tion. 

While Alice lay thus, in a state of complete mental and 
physical exhaustion, with her spirit hovering as it were between 
the two worlds, Colonel Chester sat in his library, subdued, 
moody, remorseful, perhaps sorrowful, for the loss of the gen- 
tle wife who had been the dearest — of his slaves — for twenty 
years. 

General Garnet had taken himself off to the village tavern, 
whence he had been invited to pass a week or two, at Point 
Yocomoco, the seat of Judge Wylie. 

Mr. Sinclair, in the disinterested kindness of his heart, re- 
mained at the house, superintending and directing everything, 
unquestioned by Colonel Chester, who, when he met, recog- 
nised him with a sigh or a groan. He remained until the 
funeral was over, and the house restored to its former order, 
and departed without seeing Alice, who, still prostrated, had 
not left her room. And after this, as Colonel Chester had 
not revoked his prohibition, he came to the house no more. 

As days glided into weeks, Alice recovered a portion of her 


THE FLIGHT OF ALICE. 43 

Btrength, left her chamber, and mournfully went about her 
customary occupations. 

In the sorrowful and solitary days that had followed her 
mother’s death, Alice had meditated, prayed, and experienced 
much. And when she had prayed to God, believing that He 
heard and would answer her, she invoked the sainted spirit of 
her mother in the fond faith that she too would hear — would 
come and watch over her. And slowly, in her dark hour, this 
light dawned on her soul ; That it was not her duty to break 
an engagement once sanctioned by both her parents, a sacred 
engagement with a most estimable man, whom she loved and 
venerated next to God; to wither the whole life’s happiness of 
her lover and herself ; to give her hand to a man she loathed, 
even when her father — ^for no better reason than that the new 
comer was the more distinguished suitor of the two — com- 
manded the transfer. No ! this was not duty ; it was faith- 
lessness to God ; infidelity to her betrothed ; falsehood to her 
new bridegroom ; perjury in the sight of Heaven and earth. 
No ! her duty lay in a diametrically opposite line of conduct; 
To preserve her love and faith — those jewels of her soul — 
entire, inseparable; to stand firmly by them, and let the 
storm roll on ; let the storm roll over her, and pass, as pass it 
must. 

Alice felt strong because she had resolved her difficult pro- 
blem of a divided duty.’^ There was no inner conflict. All 
opposition was from without, and could be borne ; not easily, 
perhiips, but it could be borne, or so Alice thought, when the 
lapse of a few solemn, quiet weeks had given her composure. 
It was easy to sit in her still chamber, and reading, calm, cool, 
reasoning books, or looking out upon the gentle gladness of the 
early spring days, resolve to face a coming tempest. And 
Alice nerved her gentle heart to bear her father’s wrath and 
curse, and all the terror and the anguish that might follow, 
rather than be false to her love and faith. 

Poor Alice ! her spirit was very willing, but her nerves were 
very weak. So it was with a pang of fear, that Alice heard 
her father at the breakfast-table, one morning, announce the 
expected arrival of General Garnet that evening. Yes, Colo- 
nel Chester, thinking that now perhaps sufficient time had 
elapsed since her mother’s death — and sufficient strength and 
cheerfulness had returned to his daughter, had recalled her 
suitor. Alice was trembling violently — she dared not look 
up. She had been taught to love and venerate her father 


44 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


above all eartlilj beings, and next to God. She loved and 
venerated him still, and kept her thoughts reverently away 
from investigating his motives, and judging his conduct. She 
had been taught to bow with implicit and reverential obedience 
to his will. To oppose him had not been easy in her thought 
— it was terrible in practice. It would have been terrible to 
her^ had her father been a man of moderate temper and self- 
control : but he was a man of violent and ungovernable 
passion ; and Alice was in an agony of terror when she fal- 
tered out — 

‘‘ Father, if General Garnet comes here only as your guest, 
I will welcome him with every possible attention ; I will try 
to make him feel at home, and endeavour to render his sojourn 
with us in every other way agreeable ; but if he comes here as 
my suitor — here her voice died away. 

^‘WELLr 

It is impossible to convey the short, curt, galvanic strength 
and abruptness with which he jerhed^ as it were, this syllable 
out, and broughf Alice up. It was like throwing the lasso 
suddenly around her neck, and jerking her up face to face with 
him. And such a face! It is impossible to paint the grim 
determination of the locked jaws, armed with the wiry stubble 
beard, bristled up with fierceness, and the ferocity of the darkly 
gathered frown that screwed his glance upon her pallid face, 
that screwed it into her very brain. Alice turned deadly sick, 
her eyes filmed over, and she sank back in her chair. She 
did not faint or lose consciousness, for the next instant she felt 
her father’s iron hand upon her fragile shoulder, and her 
father’s awful voice in that low, deep, suppressed tone of fierce, 
immutable determination, saying. 

Miss Chester, it is not as your suitor, but as your husband, 
that General Garnet will come this evening. I command you 
to receive him as such.” 

And he left her. 

Alice sat there in the same attitude, while the servants 
waited her orders; at last one of them went out for Comfort, 
the woman who had been Alice’s nurse, and was now her 
aiaid, and told her that surely Miss Alice was very ill, for she 
was looking very queer. And Comfort came in, raised Alice 
in her great, strong arms, carried her into the parlour, which 
was empty, laid her on the sofa, knelt down by her, and said, 
What’s de matter, Miss Ally, honey ? Tell yer ole aunty, 
honey. You know I’se almos’ a mother to you.” 


THE FLIGHT OF ALICE. 


45 


Oh, Comfort, go down to Huttontown, and try to find Mr. 
Sinclair, and ask him, in my name, for the merciful Saviour’s 
sake, to come and see me I Go, Comfort, go quickly, and 
return quickly ; but not without him. Comfort !” 

Yes, honey, that I will. God knows, honey, I wish, I 
do, you’d a sent me arter him a week ago I Let me take you 
to your room first, honey, then I’ll go.” 

No, aunty, I will stay here and wait for him,” said Alice, 
rising. It is so dreadful when the poor, fragile frame fails 
to sustain the soul’s resolve.” 

Comfort brought her a cologne bottle, and went on her 
errand, muttering, 

“ I know ole marse gwine sell me to Georgy for this here, 
wher. he fin’ it out. I don’t care ; ef I once see my poor, dear 
gal safe married to Marse Sinclair, I willin’ to go to Georgy 
for it !” 

Colonel Chester was gone to hunt with Judge Wylie, General 
Garnet, and other gentlemen of the neighbourhood, who were 
afterwards to dine with the judge at Yocomoco Point. He 
was expected home in the evening, accompanied, of course, by 
General Garnet. So Alice had the house to herself for one 
day. 

After the departure of Comfort, Alice walked restlessly about 
the room, smelling her cologne, and bathing her temples with 
it, or lay upon the sofa, weak and exhausted. Comfort had 
been gone but one hour, when the swift gallop of a horse was 
heard coming up the circular avenue. It stopped before the 
house. Quick footsteps sounded in the hall, and in another 
instant Sinclair stood before her. Alice started forward, and 
— but the cold, severe gravity of the minister arrested her, and 
she gazed at him with mournful wonder. 

“ I see how it is,” at last she said, you think that I have 
been false to you.” 

‘^No, no, Alice, I do not,” he replied, taking her hand, 
pressing it, and leading her k) the sofa, where she sat, while 
he stood before her. And now she looked up and read the 
awful sorrow on his brow. 

‘‘ Sit down by me, and let me tell you all that has happened. 

I have been true to you, indeed I have. I will continue to 
be, indeed I will. My soul is resolved ; it is only my nerves 
that falter. You know I am not strong, Sinclair; I take 
after my mother in being delicate. I may turn pale, and 
tremble, and swoon, and even die of terror ^ but I will not be * 
3 


46 THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 

false to you- God sees me ! Oh, Sinclair, why do you look 
60 grave and stern ? Can it be possible that I have offended 
you ? Will you not sit by me and tell me in what manner V* 

No, Alice, no ! how could you offend me he replied, as 
he took the seat at her side, and dropped his head upon his 
hands, while a shudder convulsed his frame. It was but for a 
moment, and looking up, he said, Tell me, Alice, why you 
sent for me.” 

And Alice began her little, momentous narrative, ending as 
she had begun, with assurances that though heart and flesh 
slould fail in the trial, her faith and love should not falter. 

And now that you are by my side, I feel so much stronger 
— every way. Let the storm roll on — it cannot destroy us ! 
And when it has spent its fury, and done its worst. I’ll tell 
you what remains — you and I, with our Love, and Faith, and 
Hope ! You, with your profession, and I, with my boundless 
willingness to help you. I can teach a girl’s school, and keep 
house for us both, besides. But, oh ! do not look so mourn- 
fully — look up — trust !” 

Oh, Alice, your dreams are Utopian ! With what benefit 
could a congregation listen to a preacher who had eloped with 
a wealthy heiress ? With what sort of trust could parents 
place their children under the instruction and guidance of a 
girl who had signally disobeyed her own father in runnir*j 
away to be married ? No, Alice — they would neither hear me 
preach, nor trust you to teach. No, Alice, the social useful- 
ness of both would be destroyed. No, Alice, were we to marry 
without the consent of your father, I would have to give up 
the ministry, give up the service to which I am pledged.” 

You would not — you would not ! Have faith in God’s 
love — and some little faith, too, in your fellow men’s kindly 
feelings. You have my father’s letter, in which he once gave 
you his consent to our marriage. Call your vestry together ; 
lay the letter before them; explain all the circumstances; 
trust them with all your doubts and fears ; they are men — • 
they have hearts ! My life on it, they will take part with 
you !” ^ 

Alice, they would not. They are men, but they are 
wealthy planters, also; they have daughters and sons to 
whom they would not like to present a high example of what 
would be considered an imprudent love-match. Beyond all 
this, the very esj^rit du corps would bind them together with 
Colonel Chester. And, oh, Alice ! even if the vestry could 


THE FLIGHT OF ALICE. 47 

be won, they make but a very small part of the church, in 
which my usefulness would be destroyed. No, Alice ! To 
give up the service of God, or to give up you, that is my in- 
tolerable alternative. Oh, God 

Language could never describe the voice of agony in which 
these words were groaned forth. Alice replied. 

Not so ! not so ! God never set that dreadful choice be- 
fore any human soul. Oh ! believe it — 

Alice ! Christ, when sending forth his apostles to preach, 
said, ^ He that loveth father or mother more than Me, is not 
worthy of Me. He that loveth son or daughter more than 
Me, is not worthy of Me. He that taketh not up his cross 
and followeth Me, is not worthy of^Me.^ ” 

“ But Christ never said a man should leave his wife — no, 
no ! Christ was just and merciful. He never set that task 
to human nature — no, no ! He said — ^ Those whom God hath 
joined together, let no man put asunder,’ ” said Alice, car- 
ried away by enthusiasm ; then, with a sudden consciousness, 
her brow crimsoned, and she dropped her face within her 
hand, while Sinclair replied, 

Alice ! you are not my wife. I would to Heaven you 
were ! I would to Heaven you were ! I would it had pleased 
God to rain all sorts of evil on my head, and spared me this 
most bitter sorrow — this most bitter duty of resigning you ! 
I would have plucked out my right eye, cut off my right 
hand, offered up the Isaac of my heart upon the altar of duty ; 
but yow, Alice, ^ou ! — Alice ! — I dare not stay with you 
longer I I am almost mad myself ! Look at me. I came 
here to comfort you ; I have only alarmed and pained you. 
Farewell, Alice ! May God from Heaven love, and sustain, 
and bless you I” and, wringing her hand, he rushed from the 
room. 

The awful hours that followed. The awful days that fol- 
lowed. 

flolonel Chester arrived in the evening, and with him Gene- 
ral Garnet, who was in deep mourning, as though he already 
belonged to the family. He met Alice with a grave and ten- 
der courtesy, and seemed to consider her deep dejection as 
solely caused by grief for her mother’s loss. 

Several days passed like a dreary dream to Alice. Colonel 
Chester would call her to entertain his- visiter, excuse himself, 
and go into his fields with the ostensible purpose of overlook 
ing his new manager, with the real intention of leaving *htj 


48 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


coast clear to the lover. But Alice, as soon as her father 
would leave the house, always got up and retired to her 
chamber, where she remained until recalled by him at his 
return. 

This had gone on for a week, when one day Colonel Chester 
inquired jocosely of his favourite how he sped now with his 
wooing, when he was informed by Greneral Garnet that Miss 
Chester afforded him no opportunity of expressing his devo- 
tion, as she constantly avoided the possibility of being alone 
with him for a moment, and ever returned his letters with 
their seals unbroken. This aroused the anger of Colonel 
Chester, and excited his suspicions. 

General Garnet, seeing that a storm was brewing, and wish- 
ing to ignore all violence and coercion, took himself off to 
Huttontown. 

Colonel Chester began his investigations : called up and 
examined the servants, and dragged out the truth of Alice’s 
message to Sinclair, and his subsequent visit. 

I shrink from describing the scene of terror, confusion, and 
dismay that ensued. First, white and quivering with rage, 
Colonel Chester sent two strong negro men to seize Comfort, 
and bring her before him for sentence ; and without waiting 
for their return, he burst into his daughter’s bed-chamber, in 
the most- terrific passion, upbraided her in the most violent 
manner, seized her fragile form in his iron grasp, shook her 
furiously, and hurled her from him, so that she fell heavily 
upon the floor, at some distance from him. Then he turned 
from the room, to wreak his vengeance on Comfort. This 
maddened Alice. She arose, giddy, tottering, with her wild 
staring eyes, in their startling dilation and fearful light, in 
ghastly contrast to the deathly pallor of her cheek, and the 
glittering glory of her beautiful but wildly dishevelled hair. 
She arose to her feet fearfully, like one listening for a return- 
ing storm, then slipping through a door communicating with 
the back stairs, she fled from the house. 


THE WILD APPEAL. 


49 


CHAPTER V. 

THE WILD APPEAL. 

Desert me ! No, thou canst not ! I am thine I 
I am ! Look at me, dearest ! Look at me ! 

I am half blind with weeping ; and mine eyes 
Have not a tear left in them ! — Festus. 

That niglit, as Sinclair was returning home from a pastoral 
visit through a narrow bridle-path in the forest, a phantom- 
like figure stood in his way — a slight girl, whose pallid features, 
sharpened by agony, and" whose frenzied eyes, and dishevelled, 
golden hair, were thrown out into strong relief by her black 
dress. He looked twice before he recognised this spectre to 
be Alice. 

Where are you going she rapidly and fearfully inquired, 
as she laid her wan hand on the bridle. 

Home,^^ said Sinclair, passing his hand across his brow, as 
if to dispel a nightmare. 

Take me with you ! Do not leave me she wildly ex- 
claimed. 

Sinclair threw himself quickly off his horse, took her hand, 
drew her aside from the path, and gazing with anguish into 
her frenzied face, exclaimed — 

Alice ! Oh, my God ! What is this 

Take me home with you ! Oh ! for the loving Redeemer's 
sake, take me home with you ! I have no pride ! see ! I am 
at your feet ! I am mad, or going mad ! Oh ! let me hold 
my head ! my brain will burst ! No one has a right to curse 
my life so ! I have a right to dispose of myself ! I have a 
right to dispose of myself ! Tahe me with you ! Oh ! my 
guide ! my friend ! my heart's own ! my other heart ! take me 
with you ! I am going mad ! I am mad now ! Oh ! I know 
it ! I know it too -surely ! I should not speak these words if 
I were not mad ! It is because I have no friend ! None in 
the world but you ! My mother is dead ! If she were living, 
she would not let my life be cursed so ! Oh ! taJce me with 
you ! do not cast me back in the fire 1" 


50 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


Alice! Alice! oh! God!” 

“ Hush ! Let me talk ! I hate no one now, much and bit- 
terly as they wrong me. My soul will be filled with love, and 
joy, and forgiveness, and mercy, if you take me with you. If 
you cast me back into the fire, hatred, and terror, and despair, 
will take possession of my soul, and never leave it. I shall 
impiously hate my father ; hate with a consuming hatred the 
husband he forces on me. I shall lose my faith in Grod. I 
shall be unutterably wretched in this world, and eternally lost 
in the next.^^ 

And so she raved, raved, raved; saying the same things 
over a score, a hundred times, clinging frantically to him, re- 
fusing to relinquish her hold, while he stood supporting her 
with one arm, leaning over her, whiter than marble, and as 
motionless, except that sometimes a great heart-sob would con- 
vulse his bosom, and force great tears like heart’s blood down 
his cheeks. 

For in the terrible convulsions of the soul, the instincts of 
sex are temporarily obliterated, and woman may rave like man, 
or man weep like woman i the soul in its strong anguish is all 
in all. And, oh, believe me ! the highest, deepest, strongest 
love, the love that suffers to agony, the love that endures unto 
death, is of the soul. 

At last, as by a sudden resolution, Sinclair raised her ten- 
derly in his arms, and resting her head against his bosom, set 
off towards Mount Calm. 

Where are you going to take me asked Alice. 

Home,” replied the minister. 

Alice certainly misunderstood him, for she smiled wnnly, 
and murmured — 

Oh ! I am so happy, Sinclair !” 

And he hurried on, pressing her closer to his bosom, while 
the large tears fell from his eyes upon her hair. Once she 
started in his arms, like a frightened bird, and exclaimed in a 
panic of terror — 

Suppose father should come after me, Sinclair ! Supp'^se 
he should get into my room, and drag me out, and force me 
into that horrible marriage ! He can do it, Sinclair.” 

But he will not, my own dear Alice ! Hush ! be calm !” 

I will. But I am thinking of that marriage, Sinclair. 
Was that the sort of marriage Ood instituted as the crowning 
blessing to man and woman ? — the marriages that holy priests, 
God’s delegated ministers, perform — that men and angels wit. 


THE WILD APPEAL. 


51 


ness — that God blesses ? The barter of so much glory for so 
much gold I I think that God must turn away His face, and 
angels weep, and fiends laugh at such a marriage ! The barter 
of so much glory for so much gold ! Oh ! it is too funny ! ha I 
ha ! ha ! Am I growing wicked ? — for I feel less like weeping 
with the angels, than laughing with the fiends !” 

And she went off, in peal upon peal of frenzied laughter. 

Sinclair was in the extremity of distress. He pressed her 
closer to his bosom, and in the first pause of her fearful 
laughter, he stooped and whispered, reproachfully, 

“ Alice, how can you laugh so, and your poor mother lying 
so near by, in her cold grave 

This cruel, but necessary speech, had the desired effect. 
Alice suddenly became quite still, and so, holding her closely 
to his bosom, dropping large tears upon her drooping head, 
he took her to Mount Calm. He bore her light form through 
the long and shaded avenue. As he reached the front of the 
house, he saw that there was a light in the usual sitting par- 
lour. He ascended the steps, and without ringing, opened 
the door and carried her into the hall, and thence into the 
parlour. It was empty, but there was a light burning in the 
adjoining library, and he carried her in there. 

Colonel Chester sat at his writing-table; pens, ink, and 
many papers were before him, but he sat with his elbows upon 
the table, his head bowed upon both hands, in moody thought. 
He was pale and haggard, as from great fatigue and anxiety. 
As the sound of Sinclair, entering, caught his strained ear, he 
inquired, without turning — 

Have they found that unfortunate child yet. Garnet 

At the sound of her father’s voice, though he spoke in sad, 
and even gentle tones, Alice, who had been resting quietly, 
started, shuddered, and clung like a frightened infant to Sin- 
clair’s bosom. 

Sinclair advanced slowly, and touching Colonel Chester on 
the shoulder, said. 

Turn, Colonel Chester, she is here, but not safe.” 

Colonel Chester turned, with a black frown. 

Alice started, looked up, recognised her father, and with a 
piercing shriek clung to Sinclair’s neck, burying her face in 
his bosom. 

Colonel Chester sprang to the bell, and rang it with such 
violence, peal upon peal, that half the household came rushing 
into the library. Then he turned instantly to Sinclair, and 
attempted to take Alice from his arms. 


52 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


Sinclair essayed, gently, to remove her clasp from around 
him. It was very easy — her arms were 'very limber now — 
and as he restored her to her father, her eyes were fixed on 
the far distance, and she asked. 

Is it not most time for the angel to wake me, mother, for 
my dream is getting very bad ? Can the angel forget to wake 
me, mother?’^ 

Mount the fleetest horse in the stable, and go for a phy- 
sician, immediately,’^ said Sinclair, and his order was instantly 
obeyed. 

Alice, unresisting, sometimes smiling a sort of gentle, im- 
becile smile, sometimes starting and shuddering with terror, 
was conveyed to bed by the female servants, and attended by 
her father. 

Sinclair remained alone in the library. Some hours passed, 
during which the physician had arrived, prescribed for Alice, 
and taken his place by her bedside, to watch hll night, for 
Alice was dangerously ill. 

It was about eleven o’clock that Colonel Chester entered 
the library. It was a moral and physical impossibility that 
he should throw himself into another furious passion that day, 
so, on seeing Sinclair occupying his chair at the library-table, 
he merely said, morosely. 

You here still, sir V’ 

^^Yes, Colonel Chester, I had no intention of departing 
without hearing of Alice’s state.” 

‘^Sir, Miss Chester has just been composed to sleep; her 
condition will be best ascertained on her awakening.” 

What does her physician fear or hope ?” 

Sir, Miss Chester may awake only to sink into the sleep 
of death, or she may awake to life, but not to reason; or, 
finally, which the physician thinks most probable, she may 
awake restored to both.” 

^^And you speak so coolly of this ! Oh! Father !” 

Sir, I take it that those who talk most vehemently, do 
not feel most deeply; have you any farther commands for 
me, sir ?” 

I must have a conversation with you. Colonel Chester,” 
said Sinclair, and then he paused, like one trying to stay the 
tide of some great emotion. He continued — I should sup- 
pose that you, also, would like to know where I found your 
unfortunate daughter.” 

Unfortunate, sir 1 Why unfortunate, but that you hi'? | 


THE WILD APPEAL. 63 

inveigled her ajBFections, and taught her disobedience V* said 
Colonel Chester, with rising wrath. 

^‘Be patient, Colonel Chester — for I am very patient.^' 
Then again he stopped, and pressing his hands tightly on his 
brow, so as to still its throbbings, he began to speak. He was 
fearfully; pale, but as you have seen the red fire glow through 
the light white ashes on a burning coal, so sometimes glowed 
the red blood through his ashen cheek, in its mighty heaves 
and surges. He went back to the beginning. He told Colo- 
nel Chester how interested he had been in Alice when he first 
saw her, a girl of fourteen ; how he had luxuriated in the cul- 
tivation of that rich and genial soil, her mind and heart; how 
his love for the girl had ripened, unaware, into the passion fbr 
the woman; how religiously he had abstained from wooing 
Alice, until he had received the permission and the blessing 
of both her parents; how their engagement had been sanc- 
tioned by both parents; and how happy they were. He said 
that in pure justice, Alice was his own. He stopped to re- 
cover his fast vanishing composure, and proceeded. He spoke 
of their preparations for marriage and housekeeping, and their 
plans for future usefulness; of his own confident joy; of his 
bride’s innocent delight; of her mother’s happiness in con- 
templating their union,' when the sudden whirlwind of afiliction 
came, and scattered all their hopes. He spoke of Alice’s 
grief at the loss of her brothers ; of her far deeper sorrow at 
the death of her mother; of the despair she must feel to be 
separated, in the midst of her aflliction, from one she loved 
like himself ; of the cruelty and danger of forcing her into a 
loathed marriage. 

And here again Sinclair nearly lost his senses. He started 
up, and walked the floor in a distracted manner, while Colonel 
Chester sat in grave and stern composure. At last he threw 
himself into a chair, struggled, and continued — 

He described the state in which he had found Alice that 
night — her despair ; hexL. wildness ; her mad raving ; her 
spasms of terror, and her relapses into imbecility ; — he re- 
minded her father of the state in which he had brought her 
home; of the slender thread upon which her life and reason 
now hung ; and besought him, if she were spared, not to force 
her into an abhorred union which must make her whole life, 
if she could survive such a marriage, hideous with misery. 

I spoke to you first of justice, of the justice of my claims 
and hers. I waive it ! I speak to you now of mercy, and I 


61 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


beseech you in mercy to all that she has suffered and must 
ever suffer — spare her ! Do not compel her into a union she 
loathes ! Give her to me. I do not say in justice, though I 
might, for she is my betrothed wife. I beseech you in mercy 
give her to me, for I only can nurse her back to life and hap- 
piness ! She has suffered so much, poor little thing ! Oh, 
father of Alice, give her to me ! let me nurse her back to life 
and hope ! I can do it, and not another ! Oh ! she is mine, 
not only by your gift and her own, and God’s, but by the 
deathless love I bear her !” 

Sir? I fancy that Miss Chester has the best medical attend- 
ance the country can produce. If it please God to remove her, 
I must bow to that dispensation as to others; if she recovers, 
as I trust and believe she will, she will have learned from ex- 
perience the lesson, that, with all your teaching, you should 
have taught her — the duty of filial obedience, and the truth 
that the way of the transgressor is hard !” said Colonel Ches- 
ter, sitting back in his broad chair, and drawing his watch 
from his fob. ^^It is near one o’clock, Mr. Sinclair, and I 
trust that our unpleasant interview draws near its close ?” 

Sinclair was suffering very much ; chill as the night was, 
fireless as the room was, the drops of perspiration were beaded 
upon his brow. Perhaps he was not wise when he broke forth 
in a voice of agony : 

Colonel Chester, I am not proud, God knows it ; but if I 
were the proudest human being that ever trod the earth, my 
love for Alice would have lifted me out of that sin. I beg her 
of you ! I entreat you to give her to me ! I can make her 
well and happy, because she loves me. And I — if I should 
tell you that I love her with the tenderness with which a mo- 
ther loves her first and only babe, I could never make you feel 
the depth of that tenderness. If I should tell you that I love 
her with the self-devoting lov,e — and oh ! it is with the pro- 
foundest reverence I speak it — with which Christ loved the 
world — if I were to tell you that I would drain my veins of 
every drop of blood if it could make Alice happy — ^you could 
never feel the extent of my self-devotion. If I were to tell 
you that I shall die without Alice, you would not care, per- 
haps, though I often feel that I certainly shall ! I cannot 
separate the loss of Alice from the loss of life, nor when I try 
to seiz^ the thought, can I realize the one more than the other.” 
He dropped his head between his palms with a great heart- 
sob and groan, and looked up again. “ I have never asked 


THE WILD APPEAL. 


55 

ber to marry me without your consent. I will never take her 
without your leave. But, oh ! give her to mo ; sink ambi- 
tion for once ! Give her to me ! She is my own ! She is my 
own heart ! She is so near to me ! So natural to me ! I have 
been so u%ed to her ! I thought her my wife so long ! Oh ! 
listen, old man ! Listen, careful father ! Listen, honourable 
man ! Colonel Chester, I had your permission to woo her ; 
I availed myself of the blessed privilege. Oh ! did I not ? I 
have held her in my arms a hundred times : I have strained 
her to my burning heart, while my very veins ran liquid 
flame ; I have pressed a thousand kisses on her face, until her 
maiden brow has been red as my lips — red as my heart’s 
blood, and glowing as its fire ! Can you change that pure 
blush — oh, father ! — to say nothing of justice j to say nothing 
of mercy? Can you in very honour give her to another 
man 

Colonel Chester arose, agitated with conflicting emotions, 
yet speaking steadily : 

^^Mr. Sinclair, have you done? Very well. You cannot 
complain that I have not heard you with patience, though you 
might have taken your answer long ago, for long ago this mat- 
ter has been discussed between us. You heard my decision 
then, and it remains unaltered. Permit me to visit my daugh 
ter, sir.’^ Then pulling the bell, he said, to the servant who 
answered it, Be within Mr. Sinclair’s call, and when he is 
pleased to retire, show him to his room,” and, turning to Sin- 
clair, he said, “Allow me to wish you good-evening, sir — ” 
pride, scorn, and cruelty in every tone and gesture ! 

Let me hasten over the next few hideous weeks. Incalcu- 
lable is the power of endurance in the human heart, for Alice 
Chester recovered. She recovered slowly from her severe and 
nearly fatal illness — ^her spirit utterly broken ; her heart ut- 
terly crushed; her very brain clouded. Her whole being 
bowed down by the storm of sorrow, yet with no one to sup- 
port, comfort, sympathize with her. Her mother was dead; 
her kind nurse, that humble but devoted friend, was sold. 
Sinclair, that only living being who could have saved her, was 
absent, forbidden to approach her. She was left alone, almost 
imbecile, and so quite defenceless in the terrible power of her 
father. 

And what words are these to write ! and what a position 
was hers when that divinely appointed parental authority— 
that protective and beneficent power — was perverted by pride, 


66 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


ambition, and selfishness into an engine of mighty torture, in- 
fficting a fatal and lifelong calamity ! 

Yet the father verily believed that he was disinterestedly 
serving his daughter's best interests. There is no more pro- 
foundly mournful illustration of the ruined archangel, than 
that of any perverted love. 

With the support of her feeble mother, had-she lived — with 
the support of Sinclair, had his piety been less ascetic, more 
hopeful, Alice might have successfully resisted the fate im- 
pending over her; but she was alone, reduced by sorrow and 
illness to a state of imbecility of mind and body, and she suc- 
cumbed to her destiny. 

So, in just three months from the death of her mother, 
Alice Chester, pallid, cold, nearly lifeless, whiter than the 
pearls in her pale hair, stood in bridal array before God’s 
holy altar, to vow in the hearing of men and angels, to love 
and honour one whom she found it difficult not to hate and 
despise ! 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE husband’s AUTHORITY. 

Yet haply there will come a weary day, 

When overtasked at length, 

Both Love and Hope beneath the weight give way ; 

Then with a statue’s smile, a statue’s strength, 

Stands the mute sister. Patience, nothing loth. 

And both supporting does the work of both. 

COLEEIDQB. 

Immediately after the marriage, they set out upon a bridal 
tour, through the North. They were absent all summer. 
Early in autumn they returned to Mount Calm, where, at the 
earnest desire of Colonel Chester, they took up their residence. 
Alice would have preferred it otherwise. 

After their marriage, and during their long and varied 
bridal tour, she had, as it were, lost her identity, seeming to 
herself to be some one else. The varied scenes of her journej’’ 
-—the stage-offices, turnpike-roads, country taverns, great 
cities with their masses of brick and mortar, public edificea. 


THE HUSBAND’S AUTHORITY. 57 

forests of shipping, gay shops, theatres, concerts, halls, illumi- 
nations, dancings, splendid attire, stage pageantry, the ranting 
and the after silence, land journeys, water journeys — all 
haunted by one painful presence — had passed before her like 
phantasmagoria ; like a continuation of her brain fever, with 
its nervous delirium and grotesque or hideous visions, and 
hallucinations. So all had seemed to her, while she seemed to 
all a pale, pretty, silent girl. 

There is a point of suffering beyond which sorrow destroys 
itself — is not felt as real — just as there is a crisis at which 
physical agony superinduces insensibility. So it had been 
with Alice, until she re-entered her native State, and memory 
and association were at vork again, 

“And the accustomed train 
Of things grew round her brain again” — 

then it was with the shrinking dread with which a burned 
child would approach fire, that Alice drew near her home. She 
would have preferred to remain away for ever, amid the kaleido- 
scopic changes of her new, wandering, unreal life, rather than 
have awakened from the strange, painful, but very vague 
dream ; rather than have had consciousness foreed upon her 
by the dear, old familiar scenes, and associations of her heme 
— her once peaceful, hopeful, happy home, as by 
“Some monstrous torture-engine’s whole 
Strength.” 

The day of their arrival at home, a large company had been 
invited to meet them at dinner. The days that followed, were 
filled up with dinner-parties. At length ; late in the fall, 
they were quietly settled, and the monotonous routine of daily 
country life commenced. One thing Alice dreaded, and 
avoided ; appearing at church again under her new position 
and name. Sinclair might easily have supposed this, and 
divined the reason ; he might have felt deeply pained, that 
Alice was compelled to deny herself the consolation of a.ttend- 
ing Divine service; but he could not, upon this account, give 
up or exchange his pulpit, and abandon what he considered 
his post of duty, even though, for his own tranquillity, as well 
as for the peace of Alice, he must desire to do so. But this 
gordian knot w^as cut for him by others 

You -will remember that previous to her marriage, and when 
wishing to avert her impending fate, Alice had thrown herself 
upon the generosity of her suitor, by informing him of hei 


68 THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 

engagement with Sinclair, sanctioned by her parents and 
even, as a last argument, confessing her affection for her be- 
trothed. I said then that this painful confession and appeal 
had been made in vain ; that it had done no good. It remains 
to show how much harm it did. It was a confession, an appeal 
that General Garnet would never forget, or forgive 1 If he 
loved his fragile young wife at all, it was with a surly reser- 
vation ; he could not pardon her for having wedded only upon 
compulsion, for having preferred another, even though that 
preference had been felt before she had ever set eyes upon 
himself ; even though he knew himself to be the wrong-doer, 
and that other the deeply wronged, even though he had over- 
shadowed the whole of their lives with sorrow ; nay ! hecaxise 
of that, his resentment was the deeper! 

Some who may read these lines, may have experienced the 
dark and fearful power of one bitter, determined, insidious foe. 
And they will understand how it was that the young clergyman 
became unpopular in his congregation ; how his youth, manly 
beauty, grace, and accomplishments, that once won all hearts, 
were now so many faults and misfortunes ) how the narrow- 
minded called him a free thinker, and the liberal-hearted be- 
lieved him too ascetic ; the rich and powerful, that he unbent 
too much from the dignity of the clergyman in visiting so 
familiarly the poor of the congregation, and complained that 
he was fond of low company ; while the poor accused him of 
being stuck up, and conceited with his soft, brown hair, and 
white hand like a lady’s, and his black coat, and his book- 
learning.” The young minister was under a cloud ) and those 
who looked at him thought he was black. But it was only the 
shadow of the cloud. His usefulness in that neighbourhood 
was not only impaired ; it was destroyed. His congregation 
fell off, so that he was in danger of preaching only to empty 
pews. He was meditating the resignation of his pulpit, when 
a call” to take charge of a church in the West, opened to 
him a new field of labour and usefulness. His departure fol- 
lowed; and this was a great relief to Alice, who, with the 

sigh of a great deliverance, tried to leave the past with all 
its gloom and terror,” and turn to the future with some hrjpe. 

The successor of Sinclair arrived — the new minister was the 
very antipode of the old one — a stout, round-bodied, nrl-faced, 
black-haired, bald-pated, elderly gentleman ; amazingly fond 
of wild turkey with oyster-sauce. He was very popular with 
the rich — for he eat their dinners, drank their wines, patron- 


59 


THE husband’s AUTHORITY. 

ized fclieir oyster-suppers and fish-frolics, and praised all^and 
nev(.r had the bad taste to lug the pulpit bodily into the dining- 
room or drawing-room. As for the poor, they never saw him near 
enough to take offence at his “black coat, and book-learning.^' 
As tor Alice, notwithstanding she did not think the new 
minister to be “ a man after God's own heart," or even after 
any earnest Christian’s heart, she was too happy to be per- 
mitted to go to church again. 

There is one thing very excellent in the Episcopal Church 
and in its form of worship ; it is this : that under all circum- 
stances, and changes of church ministry, no matter how bad 
a pastor they may chance to have (such things must some- 
times be — there was a Judas among the Twelve), no matter 
how insincere his piety, how “ flat, stale, and unprofitable" his 
sermons, yet there remains to the children of the faith, un- 
changed and unchangeable, the sublime and most beautiful 
ritual of the church — that answers all the spirit's need, that 
“age cannot wither, nor custom stale" — that ritual, dear from 
the associations of childhood, and Divine from the experiences 
of life. 

It was for this that Alice sought again the church : it was 
to hear again the awfully impressive words of the opening ser- 
vice, “ The Lord is in His holy temple, let all the ear^h keep 
silence before Him." It was to feel herself in that awful 
Presence. Alice was very strongly attached to her church, 
and to its form of worship. In infancy she had been baptized 
there ; in childhood, she had knelt at that altar, and felt the 
venerable hands of the Bishop laid on her head in blessing in 
the sacred rite of confirmation ; in girlhood she had knelt 
there to receive her first communion ; every week during her 
lohole life she had worshipped there — until lately. All her 
“weetest, dearest, profoundest religious affections and experi- 
ences were associated with that old Red-Sandstone Church. 
It was a great comfort and support to go there, to join in the 
solemn worship, to sit at the Lord’s table, to hear the Word 
of God, to exercise all her religious duties, and enjoy all her 
religious privileges, as she had been accustomed to do. It was 
with a countenance calmed with “ peace and good will" that 
Alice took her place in the carriage to go to church the first 
time; but it was with a face radiant wi-th the inner light of a 
profound religious joy that she sat by her husband’s side in 
their drive home. It was a peace and joy which he could not 
understand, into wl''''rh he could by no means enter, with 


60 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


wbicli be was not in any way connected, and of wbicb, as a 
matter of course, be grew jealous. He objected to ber attend- 
ing the cburcb — even tbougb tbe young minister had resigned 
his congregation to tbe care of an elderly pastor and was far 
away, — be was jealous of bis memory connected with tbe 
cburcb. Alice acquiesced, although it was another wound 
needlessly inflicted on ber bleeding heart ; she acquiesced, say- 
ing to herself, that God dwells not alone in temples made with 
hands, that be was present everywhere; that it was better to 
absent herself from church, since it was from no lack of desire 
to go there that she did it, than to associate its holy peace 
with family dissensions. 

Alice had books — good and soul-sustaining books, the pro- 
ductions of some of the finest intellects and purest hearts 
earth ever knew — selected for her without regard to sect, by 
Sinclair, and full of his marks and annotations, and these stood 
her in best stead of sermons when her soul needed spiritual 
help. But these books Sinclair and herself had read and 
admired 'together, and these General Garnet with a mistaken 
vengeance, with a morose satisfaction, seized whenever and 
wherever he found them, and cast them into the fire. 

The old ladies of the neighbourhood, who had been her 
mother’s friends, were fond of visiting Alice, of having her 
with them, and of giving her such instruction, and showing 
her such attention, as genial old ladies delight to show young 
wives and inexperienced housekeepers, and Alice loved to be 
with them But they were connected with the past : they 
would even talk to Alice kindly of the young minister whom 
they had “ always thought would have married and settled 
among” them, but who was now gone for ever. And for this 
reason, General Garnet discouraged the association until it 
ceased entirely, and Alice was almost in solitary confinement 
in the cold, stern prison of her home. 

And now, if you are inclined to blame General Garnet very 
much, remember that a very much better man might have 
acted in the very same maner, under the same circumstances, 
for J ealousy is as crue.1 as the grave.” He knew himself 
unloved, he felt too surely that he could not confer upon his 
enforced bride the highest happiness, and he took a morose 
satisfaction in occasionally exercising his power of inflicting 
the greatest pain. 

Did Colonel Chester see and acquiesce in this destruction of 
his daughter’ p'eace ? No ; he saw little or nothing objection 


COUNTRY neighbours. 61 

able in General Garnet’s manners. He was a very distin- 
^ished man, exceedingly moral and polite — that was enough. 
Besides, Colonel Chester stood in great awe and admiration of 
his imposing son-in-law. Finally, the most refined and fatal 
methods of torture are not visible to a third party; victim and 
executioner are alone in the secret. 

Two events of great domestic importance occurred in the 
second year of their marriage : one was the death of Colonel 
Chester, who^ died, as all their neighbours said, of nothing 
more than his diabolical temper , as Hheiv physician said, of 
congestion of the brain, brought on by excitement. And what 
do you think was the cause of this fatal excitement ? That the 
child of Alice happened to be a girl instead of a boy, which 
he had set his heart upon. 


CHAPTER VII. 

COUNTRY NEIGHBOURS. 

Blest those abodes where want and pain repair, 

And every stranger finds a ready chair ; 

Blest be those feasts, with joyous plenty crowned, 

Where all the blooming family around, 

Laugh at the jests or pranks that never fail, 

Or sigh with pity at some mournful tale, 

Or press the weary traveller to his food. 

And feel the luxury of doing good. — Goldsmith 

There was one family, and that family the very warmest 
and most steadfast among the few friends of Sinclair, from 
whom General Garnet had not the will or the power to separate 
his young wife — the Wylies, of Yocomoco, or Point Pleasant, 
as their seat was more frequently called by their delighted 
visiters. Who indeed had the will or the power to do aught 
to annoy the delightful host of Point Pleasant ? 

Who in all the South has not heard of Judge Jacky Wylie, 
fitill called Judge because he had once set upon the bench, 
though not finding the seat comfortable, he had abandoned it, 
affirming that he had ‘^not the heart” for tlie business. That 
ivas a favourite phrase with the Judge, who was always assert- 
ing that he hadn’t the heart,” when every one knew that 
4 


62 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


he had the largest heart in all old Maryland, and that its 
capacities for growth were immortal, so that w'^hen she should 
come to depart this life, his physician^ s verdict would be 
likely to be, died of enlargement of the heart/^ Yet he 
haduH the heart’^ was the excuse for all manner of careless- 
ness, extravagance, and improvidence, and the shirking of all 
manner of disagreeable duties. He hadn^t the heart’^ tc 
collect a bad debt, because, poor soul, perhaps he — the 
debtor — couldn’t pay.” He hadn’t the heart” to turn an 
idle beggar from the door, because, poor wretch, he looked 
too weak to work.” And worse than that, he, a judge,” 
one bound to uphold and protect the authority of the law, 
“ hadn’t the heart” to prosecute the thief who robbed his hen 
roost, because, poor devil, his little child was ill, and he 
himself would have given him a dozen chickens for his sick 
child, if he had known it, only the fellow was backward in 
asking.” 

And above all, he, Judge Wylie, with his idle, extravagant, 
and pleasure-loving habits, with an old mother to take care of, 
and a young daughter to provide for, gradually accumulated 
— not property — but a house full of young cousins, orphan 
nieces, and unprovided nephews, because he ^‘hadn’t the 
heart” to see the poor things scattered all over the world ] and 
a ward without an inheritance, and an adopted child, who was 
no kin to him, because he hadn’t the heart” to see them want. 
Who in all St. Mary’s did not love Jacky Wylie, whose 
boundless benevolence and extravagant expenditures led his 
best friends, while they loved and admired his entire want of 
selfishness, to wonder and grieve at his thoughtless impro- 
vidence, and fear and prophesy the ruin to which such a heed- 
less course must lead; Jacky Wylie, with the child’s heart 
in his manly bosom, full of compassion, simplicity, and care- 
lessness, the child’s wish on his laughing lip; ‘^only to have 
a great many happy faces around him all the time and the 
child’s faith in taking no thought for the morrow. 

God save our souls !” he would reply to those who would 
venture to expostulate with him, “ what have we to do with 
the future? It is the Lord’s,” raising his hat reverently, 
let the Lord take care of His own ! As for me, I mean to 
be a grateful and trustful steward of all the good things my 
Master has given me for myself and others, and I mean to be 
as happy as ever I can, and make others as happy as ever I can, 
as long as ever the means will last. D if I don’t I Don’t 


COUNTRY NEIGHBOURS. 


63 


make me swear. It seems to me tlie Lord has a time of it, 
trying to make some people comfortable. I do think that if 
Omnipotence could get discouraged, the Lord would, even 
when He gives people a plenty for the present, they turn to 
Him a greedy, grasping look, and murmur, ^ More V or a sour, 
suspicious look, and whine, ^ Future May the Lord deliver 
us from ingratitude and distrust. No, friend ! If I spend my 
means on vice, you might reasonably croak ; but on my own 
flesh and blood, on my friends and neighbours, and on the 
needy. Pooh ! Don’t let’s talk of it any more !” 

The J udge was on the elephantine scale of size — ^tall, stout, 
and fleshy — with clear cut, massive features, fair, white com- 
plexion — soft, flaxen hair and whiskers — large, clear, merry, 
blue eyes — ^full lips, that smiling, displayed the finest teeth 
ever seen, square, even, and regular. 

He was a union of love, strength, and joy, of all-embracing 
love, of all-protecting strength, and of all-confiding joy. By 
some, his boundless trust in God was said to approach pre- 
sumption, and his realizing” faith in Heaven, struck others 
as bordering closely upon irreverence. 

Once he terribly shocked young Sinclair, when the young 
pastor ventured, in the most delicate and respectful manner, 
to suggest, that it might possibly be thought ^inconsistent” 
for a church member to kneel at the communion altar on Sun- 
day, and give an oyster-supper, and keep up the frolicking all 
night Monday. And he answered, 

^‘The Lord love you, Mr. Sinclair! that comes of your 
black coat, and your theological education. Can’t you put 
nature and the Bible, creation and revelation together, and 
draw your own inferences ? Is not nature glad, in the sight 
of God, always ? Were not the people of the Bible happy 
always, except some heavy trouble oppressed them ? Do you 
happen to know how many times the apostles went on their 
way rejoicing? Do you recollect what happened when the 
imprisoned apostle converted his jailor? Did they mope, and 
moan, and meditate all night 3 they who were in the happy 
secret of the redemption? That they didn’t! You know 
they didn’t; though I don’t believe you ever thought of it. 
You know they got supper, and thanked the Lord, and made 
a happy night of it. And now, as for myself, do you think 
the Lord sent me away from His table, with such a heavy, 
distrustful heart, that I could not preside at my own ? Lord 
love you, Mr. Sinclair I You have read theology out of musty 


64 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


tomes, in a gloomy study ; and I have read my commentariei 
on the Bible, in the ever changing, ever beautiful face of na- 
ture ; in the eyes of little children ; in the smiles of young 
girls ; in the songs of birds ; even in the glad spring of the 
tiny squirrel ; in the fragrance of flowers ; in all the beauty, 
music, goodness, and gladness of the rich creation/' 

^^And do you read no commentaries in the dark volume of 
man's history ; in the deformity, the misery, the discord, the 
sin of the world 

Yes, yes. Do you ? But that is not the point at issue 
between us. I spoke of creation. You speak of the loorld. 
I spoke of Grod's work; His revelation of Himself in His 
work. You speak of man's doings, or rather, ■undoings. God 
created the earth, and all that live, and move, and have their 
being thereon, for happiness ; but man has made the world 
for misery." And here would follow a theological discussion, 
with which I will not weary you, and from which the young 
minister would retire to read, meditate, and pray, and the host 
would go off to send Sandy down to rake the oyster bank, as 
there were ^^some of the girls' beaux riding down the road, 
and they would stay to supper." 

Judge Wylie's religious creed would have been an unsolva- 
ble problem to any one unacquainted with the fact of his be- 
longing to the Protestant Episcopal Church. He had been 
confirmed according to the custom of that church, when he 
was about fifteen years of age, taking the thirty-nine articles of 
faith as he would have taken thirty-nine more — upon simple 
trust ! and since his confirmation, I believe he never looked at 
the articles, and finally forgot them all, except those of the 
Apostles' Creed, which he repeated twice every Sunday, and 
six times a week during Lent. 

During Lent ! I wish any number of hungry people had 
kept Lent with Judge Jacky. He religiously abstained from 
meat on fast days ! but the quantity of good things — hest 
things that were made to supply the place of that one simple 
article of meat — ^was astonishing. I think his cook might 
well have complained that the cookinary t'ile of thim fast 
days 'ould be the 'struction of her mortal soul !" There were 
oysters cooked in every variety of manner : stewed, fried, 
scoHoped, devilled, raw, roasted, and made into pies; there 
was fish of every description found at the time and place : 
drum, carp, rock, shad, perch, dressed in every conceivable 
way — baked, potted, stewed, boiled, with all sorts of sauce ; 


COUNTRY NEIGHBOURS. 


65 


there were custards, puddings, pies, and jellies, and every- 
thing that eggs, milk, butter, cream, sugar, spices, and fruit 
could be manufactured into ; there were — but ask Aunt Com- 
fort, who, having been sold by Colonel Chester to a trader, 
was repurchased by Judge Wylie, who ‘^hadn’t the heart’^ to 
see the poor creature torn from her native region of country. 

Judge Wylie loved his own church, its ordinances, and 
above all its liturgy, which he was accustomed to say was the 
most sublime and exalted composition in the English lan- 
guage; but Judge Wylie also had a warm, cordial apprecia- 
tion of the excellencies of other sects. ^‘Just look at the 
Catholics \” he would say, in a fervour of admiration, “ does 
any Christian sect take such care of the children, the poor, 
the sick, and the vicious as they do ? Look at their institu- 
tions, their flourishing condition, and the good they do. Don't 
tell me about what they did in the dark ages; I don’t know 
anything about that; I didn't live in those days. I don't 
know what they did thenj or, what we did then ; I know what 
they do now!” Did any Catholic friend of the Judge feel 
complimented on the part of his church ? If he did, unless 
he should happen to be a Christian of liberal interpretation, 
ne would be sure to feel the compliment neutralized very soon. 
The Judge will have been at a Methodist Camp Meeting, and 
with his large sympathies, warm emotions, and impulsive na- 
ture, will have entered into the spirit of their enthusiasm, 
sang, prayed, abandoned himself to the full inspiration of 
their zeal and devotion, and, returning home, will swear that 

he loves the Methodists, d d if he don't ! — that there is 

some heart, and soul, and spirit in them! — they’ve got the 
love of God and their fellow sinners in their hearts ! — and if 
it wa’n’t that they were such blockheads in their objections to 
frolicking, and that his girls and boys would have to give up 
fiddling and dancing in his house, he would join the Metho- 
dists, d 1 take him if he wouldn't !" For I am sorry to 

say that when Judge Jacky was very emphatic, he would 
swear, quite unconsciously. It was the bad habit of his time, 
his neighbourhood, and his class. Why he was not turned 
out of church for unsettled convictions and profane swearing, 
I do not know. Possibly, because he was judged by the same 
liberal interpretation whereby he judged others ; probably, 
because every Sunday morning he repented and confessed, 
that, in the words of the ritual, he had done those things 
which he ought not to have done. 


66 rHE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 

And there was his mother, a gentlewoman of the old school, 
without any state about her, a Lady Bountiful of the neigh- 
bourhood, without any pretensions. 

Who did not know and love old Mrs. Wylie ? 

I wish I could daguerreotype her as she would come down 
the great hall stairs, calling to her maids — Comfort ! Com- 
fort ! come here, child. Tell Alexander to go and rake the 
oyster-bed, and pick out the large, single oysters — none of the 
trifling little bunches — and to bring them to the house. Send 
Cornelius Tacitus to fish the weir, and let him mind and select 
the largest fish, and throw the others back. Tell J ulius Cassar 
to kill a pig, a -turkey, and a pair of ducks. Tell Narcissus to 
haul on his leather splatter-dashes, and go into the marsh, and 
see if he cannot get some turtle. If you see your young mas- 
ter, Ulysses, tell him to take his gun, and see if he cannot bring* 
us home some canvass-backs, for I know that Jacky Wylie will 
be bringing home a house-full of people from the packet. Now 
go. Comfort, and do as I direct you, and then come back, for I 
want to give you some more orders for yourself and Portia : 
for Portia must make some rising for bread, and you’ve got 
pound-cake and biscuit to make. Yes, I know — ” she would 
repeat, as she turned away — I know Jacky Wylie will be 
bringing twenty people home to supper with him to-night.” 

I will try to picture her as she stood there. She was di- 
minutive, and therefore proud of being mother to a giant like 
J acky. Her face was very lovely ; round, with softly-moulded 
features, fair, roseate complexion, mild blue eyes, and silvery 
white hair, parted evenly over her smooth forehead — for her 
forehead was smooth as a child’s — her few wrinkles were in the 
cheeks, and looked like mellowed dimples, as, indeed, they 
were ; her beautiful face was old with smiles, not with frowns 
or thought; her silvery hair was surmounted by a high- 
crowned cap, with deep-laced lappets, falling on her full, soft 
bosom. She wore a black satin gown, with a long-waisted bo- 
dice, open at the top, to show the inside kerchief, of clear 
muslin — with long, tight sleeves, to the elbows, finished with 
deep rufiles of fine lace — and a voluminous skirt, open, and 
tucked up, to show a richly-tamboured cambric petticoat ; and 
lastly, high-heeled shoes, that, with the high-crowned cap, 
helped the altitude of the little lady somewhat. 

How she was adored by the large, miscellaneous family 
Jack had gathered together! To be sure, all Jacky’s unpro- 
vided nieces and n^nhews were her grandchildren, and it was 


COUNIKY NEIGIIliOURS. 


67 


partly for love of her, to please her, to let her gather all her 
second brood under her wing, that her son Jacky collected 
them. Yes, she was adored by all that household of laughing 
girls and roystering boys, the tide of whose love and fondness 
for her was so great that it sometimes overflowed the barriers 
of veneration — just as Jacky’s confidence in Grod sometimes 
swamped his reverence ! — ^but most of all was she idolized by 
the adopted son of Judge Jacky, Ulysses Roebuck, who had 
so little reverence for anybody or anything else, when going 
out gaming in a hurry — he was always in a hurry — he would 
burst into his cousin’s chamber, pull out her drawers, tear a 
sleeve out of the first soft, fine garment he laid his hands on, 
and ram it into his pocket for gun wadding j would flatly re- 
fuse to dance with his cousin when she asked him, and tell his 
kind benefactor to mind his business, for that he was behind 
the times : yet would swear, with flushed cheeks and tearful 
eyes, that he wished his grandmother would only tell him to 
lie down and let her walk on him, for that he’d do it! Did 
any one doubt him ? Very well, then, let his grandmother 
only just tell him to lay his head down on the meat-block, and 
let Julius Caesar chop it off with a meat-axe 1 then see if he 
wouldn’t do it ! Yes ; with the greatest pleasure and delight I 
by the great American Eagle would he 1 Saying which, 
Ulysses, Marse Useless” as the negroes perverted his name, 
according to their amusing habit, would ram the wadding into 
his fowling-piece with great energy and emphasis, shoulder it, 
call the dogs, and go birding. 

Next to bis grandmother, Ulysses loved his smallest cousin, 
little Ambrosia, the only child of Judge Jacky, and the 
little goddess of the whole household of grown up and grow- 
ing up young men and maidens. Little Ambrosia, named 
after her Uncle Ambrose, who had been the elder and only 
brother of Jacky, and the favourite of his mother, but who 
had died in his youth. And it was to please his mother that 
Jacky, having no son, called his little daughter after his 
brother. And it was a lovely name, too, he thought — a love- 
ly, tempting, caressablc name ! really better than one could 
have hoped ; for Ambrose was old Jashioned and ugly — low bo 
it spoken. 

I think the negroes must have conceived it to be a “ tempt- 
ing” name, too; "for, with their inevitable fault of corrupting 
language, they called the little seraph, with her charming face 
and sunny hai”, “ Miss Ambush.” 


I 


58 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


And Marse Useless’^ and Miss Ambush'^ were the primo 
faTourites of the plantation, notwithstanding, or perhaps, be- 
cause of, the dare-devil, don't care-ishnes§ of the former. 

It was with this family, then, that General and Mrs. Garnet 
interchanged frequent visits. Often the old lady, Mrs. Wylie, 
accompanied by little Ambrosia and a waiting-maid, would 
drive up to Mount Calm, in their old-fashioned phaeton, to 
spend the day, or else two or three of the girls and young men 
would ride up to pass an evening, and return by starlight. 
And not unfrequently, young Mrs. Garnet would go down 
with her little Alice, and pass a day and night at Point Pleas- 
ant. 

There was yet another family with whom the Garnets were 
upon terms of close intimacy and friendship — their next 
neighbours, the Hardcastles, of Hemlock Hollow, whose estate 
joined Mount Calm, lying immediately behind and below it, 
and extending farther inland. The family at the Hollow con- 
sisted of Lionel Hardcastle, High Sheriff of the State, his 
only son, Lionel, junior, a youth of fifteen, and his nephew, 
Magnus, a boy of ten years old. 

Lionel Hardcastle was the only man in the county, with 
whom General Garnet could be said to be on terms of close 
intimacy. Their estates, as I said, joined; their rank in life 
was upon a par, and their county interests almost identical. 
They were also of the same party in politics, of the same de- 
nomination in religion, and of like opinion upon all common 
and local questions : so that there was very little to differ about, 
(vhile there was a great deal to attract them to each other in 
their very opposite temperaments and characters, experiences, 
and mental acquisitions. General Garnet, who had won such 
notable laurels in his military career, was comparatively new 
to the life and lore of tobacco plantations and State politics, 
and would sit for hours together listening in stately silence, 
yet with profound interest and attention, to the discourse of 
Mr. Hardcastle, a veteran in agriculture, electioneering, &c., 
while Mr. Hardcastle would be delighted to entertain or in- 
struct General Garnet for any length of time, with his greater 
knowledge and experience. Thus their acquaintance was 
riveted into intimacy. 

Mrs. Garnet had always been strongly attached to the family 
at the Hollow, and though there was no lady at the head of 
the establishm mt to receive her, she continued to accept th« 


COUNTRY NEIGHBOURS. 6S 

invitations to dinner extended to Gleneral Garnet ana herself, 
and always accompanied him thither. 

But Mrs. Garnet had her favourite among the Hardcastles-y- 
!ihis was young Magnus Hardcastle, the nephew, a fine, hand- 
some, spirited, and generous boy, devotedly fond of his beau* 
tiful neighbour, and her sweet little girl. Very often would 
Mrs. Garnet take Magnus home with her to spend several days 
or weeks at Mount Calm. And when he was not staying there, 
still every day would the boy find his way to Mount Calm, 
with some little childish love-ofifering to its sweet mistress : — 
In spring it would be a bunch of wood-violets, or wild sweet- 
briar roses, gathered in the thicket, and of which Alice was 
very fond ; in summer, a little flag-basket of wild strawberries 
or raspberries, which Alice loved better than hot-house or gar- 
den fruit ; in autumn, a hat full of chesnuts and chinkapins, 
gathered in the forest, and hulled by himself ; even in winter 
the little fellow might be seen trudging on, knee-deep in snow, 
with a bunch of snow-birds, which he had caught in his trap 
for pretty Cousin Alice, as he called Mrs. Garnet. 

Very bright would grow Mrs. Garnetts pleasant chamber, 
when Magnus, with his sunny smile, would break in upon the 
pensive lady, and the little child, and light up all the room 
with his gladness. Very often the lady would open her 
arms to receive the joyous boy, and fold him to her bosom in 
a most loving clasp, grateful for the new life and joy he ever 
brought her. 

Mrs. Garnet loved her own beautiful and gentle child, but 
it was with a profound, earnest, almost mournful and forebod- 
ing love. 

But Magnus was a perpetual day-spring of gladness and 
delight to her. She could not look upon the boy without a 
thrill of sympathetic joy and hope. 

No one could see the boy without loving him, or look for- 
ward to his future without confidence in it. True, he had no 
patrimony and no prospects. But look at that fine athletic 
b-ame to struggle and overcome; at that massive forehead, 
>ven now prone with mind at those earnest, true eyes j 
At those beautifully formed but firmly compressed lips ; at 
that whole face, shadowy with thought or tenderness, or bright 
with intelligence and joy; at that whole form and bearing, full 
of gentleness and strength, of earnest purpose and fearless 
confidence. Vet Magnus was not what is called a ^‘gentle 
boy;’' no, ind'cd; out of doors^ out of th:; sight and heariug 


70 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER, 


of the beautiful mother and the sweet child, Magnus was a 
very rough, roystering, romping boy, as his excess of vital 
energy obliged him to be ; but if ever one child was the slave 
of another, Magnus was the most docile of slaves to little 
Alice. Often in the very brightest, gladdest, most tempting 
weather, he would leave his dear out-door sports, and sit for 
hours building card-houses, cutting out paper babies, or telling 
fairy stories for little Alice ; but oftener still, he would coax 
the lady to trust the little one to his care, and lead her ten- 
derly away to the woods and hills. And there was no one in 
the world* to whom Alice would have trusted her child so 
easily as to that rough, but loving, careful boy. And so the 
years had passed, and Alice grew happy in their flight, until 
the second trial of her life approached. 


CHAPTER VIIL 

HUTTON OF THE ISLES. 

Thou art as tall, as sinewy, and as strong, 

As earth’s first kings — the Argo’s gallant sailors — 

Heroes in history, and gods in song. — Halleck. 

The Huttons, proprietors by preemption right of St. 
(flara’s town, bay, and isle, for more than two hundred years, 
had settled among the Islets of the Bay many years previous 
to the date of that patent by which James I. granted the pro- 
vince of Maryland to George Calvert. 

There were many remarkable, almost fabulous points of cha- 
racter about the family of the Huttons. A gigantic, strong, 
and handsome race of men, they were not prolific. They were 
said, indeed, to possess the fabled characteristic of the great 
mastodon — the peculiarity of producing but one of their kind. 
Thus their name had come down from the earliest records of 
the family to the time of their settlement in America, through 
a succession of only sons. Wild lovers of liberty and of dar- 
ing adventure, the Huttons had, from the earliest times, taken 
to the sea. They had sailed among the first adventurers to 
the New v'^orld, and settled among the lonely Isles of the Bav. 


HUTTON OF THE ISLES. 71 

Sea kings of the New World they continued to he fiom father 
to son up to the time of the American Revolution. 

At the commencement of the American Revolution, a cer- 
tain Captain Hugh Hutton, the then representative and head 
of the family, fired with an enthusiastic passion for liberty, 
or — fighting ! sold a great portion of his patrimony, and pur- 
chased, fitted out, and manned a privateer, and sailed against 
the British flag. 

He served gallantly and with various success during the 
whole period of the war. 

At the glorious close of the revolutionary struggle, ruined 
in fortune and riddled with wounds. Captain Hugh Hutton, 
the sailor-patriot and martyr, retired to the last foot hold of 
his once almost kingly estates, to the little island of St. Clara’s, 
otherwise called Hutton’s Island — there to die in obscurity. 

A few days previous to his death, he called his only son, 
Hugh, to his bedside, and enjoined him never to demand — 
never even to accept compensation from Congress for his ser- 
vices and his losses during the war. 

My fortune, my labour, my life-blood were not sold but 
given to the cause of liberty and of my country,” he said, and 
these were the last words of the sailor-patriot. 

Hugh Hutton, the son, and now the sole representative ol 
the family, was, at this time, about eighteen years old. Having 
lost his mother at an early age, he had been taken by his 
father as a companion in all his sea voyages. 

He had sailed with him in his first privateering expedition 
against the British ships. At first as a childish and innocent 
spectator, afterwards as a youthful and enthusiastic actor, he 
had figured in all the sea-fights in which his father’s ships had 
been engaged during the whole course of the war. 

Thus all education, except that exclusively of the sailor and 
soldier, had been denied him. And thus Hugh Hutton, though 
tall, strong, handsome, and gallant, like all his race, was yet 
rude, unschooled, and unpolished. 

He was faithful to the dying injun«tion3 of his father. 
With many claims upon his country’s remembrance and gra- 
titude, he set forth none. 

Loving the ocean with the passionate enthusiasm of all his 
father’s nature, he took to it as his natural element. 

First he engaged in the humble capacity of mate on board 
'‘The Little Agnes,” a small schooner plying between Huttop 


72 THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 

Town and Baltimore or Alexandria, as the freight or market 
demanded. 

After serving many years in this situation, an unexpected 
turn in the wheel of fortune gave him the means of purchas- 
ing a larger vessel of his own, and of extending the area of his 
trade and the length of his voyages. This was the death of 
the old ship-owner and captain with whom he had sailed for 
many years, and who, dying, left him all his moderate posses- 
sions on condition of his marrying his only daughter, then a 
mere child of fifteen years of age, and constituted him her 
guardian until the marriage. The heart of the brave young 
sailor had seldom or never turned on love or marriage — it was 
not the nature of his free, wild, adventurous race. But when 
he had buried his old captain in Baltimore, where he died, and 
taken the command of the little schooner to return home to 
Hutton Town to find his little ward and wife — then — ah ! 
then all sorts of strange, sweet, solemn, and tender thoughts of 
beauty, and love, and home, and repose, swarmed about his 
heart. 

It was late in the afternoon of a glorious October day, that 
the schooner, with her crew, put in to the harbour of Hutton’s 
Inlet. Behind them. North, East, and South, rolled out and 
flashed in the light, the vast and dazzling waters of the sea. 
Before them, West, was the coast, with the bright little fore jt- 
shadowed inlet into which they were sailing. The little inlet, 
the gorgeous girdle of autumnal forest trees — dark green 
pines and cedars, scarlet oak, purple dog- wood and yellow 
hickory — around its banks, the mosaic-like hamlet of Hutton 
at, its head, the brown and burnished hills beyond, the magni- 
ficent sky, the mountainous purple, golden, and crimson 
clouds piled above, were all glowing warmly, richly in the 
fiery splendour of the setting sun. And all this rich refulgence 
of colouring was reflected and reproduced in the clear, pro- 
found waters below, forming complete, a glorious picture 
of gorgeous magnificence. In striking contrast to all this 
warm-hued, deep-toned, refulgent natural scenery, was the cold, 
white front of a mansion house standing upon a distant hill 
against the western horizon, and girt around with its old 
ancestral trees. This was Mount Calm, the seat of G-eneral 
Aaron Garnet. 

The little schooner, with its whitw sail, glided swiftly and 
smoothly into the inlet, and cast anchor near the hamlet. 
Leaving the vessel in charge of the mate. Captain Jluttuu 


HUTTON OF THE ISLES. 


73 


took a boat and went on shore. A crowd of villagers, as 
usual, thronged the beach, anxious to hear and to tell the 
news, and hearty greetings and noisy questions met him as he 
stepped upon the strand, and— 

How is the old Captain ? How is old Seabright ? Why 
don’t he come ashore ? — though there is evil news enough to 
meet him when he does come ! Where is the jolly old dog, 
then ? I guess he’s wanting up at home there ?” were some 
of the storm of words hailed upon him. 

Friends,” replied the young sailor, shaking hands right 
and left as he pushed on, our old Captain is outward-bound 
to that distant seaport whence no voyager ever returns. Per- 
mit me now to go on and break the sad news to his child.” 

Stay ! — poor old man ! when did he die ? What ailed him ?” 
exclaimed two or three of the most persevering, detaining him. 

To-night, friends, to-night at the ^ Neptune and P^an,’ I 
will tell you all about it. Permit me now to pass on and take 
his last letter to his daughter,” said the skipper, good-hu- 
mouredly, elbowing and pushing his way through the crowd. 

Stop ! What’s to become of the young girl, pretty Agnes 
Seabright ? How did he leave his bit of property ?” 

To-night, comrades ! to-night at the ^ Neptune and Pan,’ I 
will meet you. You shall have a supper, and drink to the 
memory of the ^outward-bound’ while I tell you all about it. 
I must go now !” impatiently exclaimed the Captain, shaking 
off the pertinacious, and hastening away up the straggling 
street of the hamlet. 

Hugh Hutton, like all his fathers, was far above the usual 
height of men — indeed all his characteristics were not only 
marked, but extravagant ; thus he was i;ery tall, broad-shoul- 
dered, and deep-chested — very muscular and thin ; with a very 
dark complexion, with black hair and eyes, and very high- 
commanding features. Honest, brave, and frank, even tc 
rashness — generous even to extravagance — unselfish to the de- 
gree that the worldly-wise would call fatuity — yet he had never 
known a mother’s care, a sister’s companionship, and his in 
difference to home joys was as profound as his ignorance of 
love and of woman. Brought up on a ship’s deck by a rough 
sailor father, he learned to love the ocean, and wild liberty, 
with a profound and passionate enthusiasm. 

But now he had a little girl left to him. He must make a 
home for her, take care of her, and make her happy if he 
could. This was a very noyel duty indeed, and set him very 
ly to thinking. The first natural, strange, sweet fancies 


74 


THE DISCARDED DAUQIITER. 


that had been awakened by the idea of this lovely, living 
legacy had fallen asleep again, and left him to his normal, 
free, glad, but hard, unloving nature. And now the thought 
of pretty Agnes Seabright fretted him like a fetter. 

He pursued his walk up — through the village, up — over the 
hills rising one beyond the other, until he came to the arm of 
the forest stretching around the base of that tallest distant 
hill, upon which stood the white-fronted mansion-house of 
Mount Calm. He pursued his walk on through this arm of 
the forest, ascending the hill until he came to a small cleared 
space, in which was a little cot enclosed within a narrow gar- 
den, and nearly hidden with trees. He opened the small gate 
and passed up the narrow walk between rows of marygolds, crim- 
son, white and yellow chrysanthemums, scarlet verbena, and 
other bright fall flowers, to the little door at which he rapped 


CHAPTER IX. 

THE BRIDE OF THE ISLES. 

A beautiful and happy girl, 

With step as soft as Summer air, 

And fresh young lips and brow of pearl 
Shadowed by many a careless curl 
Of unconfined and flowing hair ; 

A seeming child in everything. 

Save thoughtful brow and ripening charms. 

As nature wears the smile of Spring, 

When sinking into Summer’s arms. — Whittier. 

The door was opened by a beautiful girl between fourteen 
and fifteen years old, not tall for her age, but full-formed and 
exquisitely proportioned. Her features were regular, with the 
sweet low brow,’’ and straight Mose and arched lips of the 
Hrecian profile — her eyes were oC dark and melting blue — and 
her dark, rich auburn hair, parted over a forehead of snowy 
fairness, dropped in a mass of irregular ringlets down cheeks 
of carnation dye. The idea she inspired was that of the rich- 
ness and fullness of life. 

She stood within the door with a smile, awaiting the plea- 
sure of the stranger, whose knock had summoned her. Cap- 


THE BRIDE OF THE ISLES. 75 

tain Hugli had never seen Agnes Seabright before, so that hi 
handed her the letter, saying, 

I think that this is for you 

She took it, and was about in her haste, to break the seal 
and possess herself of the contents, when her eyes alighted on 
these words written on the corner. To make my little girl 
acquainted with Mr. Hutton, my mate and good friend/^ 
Then she raised her eyes from the letter in her hand to Hugh 
Hutton’s face. Then she ofi’ered her hand shyly but kindly, 
while she said, simply : 

How do you do, Mr. Hutton ? Will you walk in and sit 
down, and excuse me while I read father’s letter ? I have not 
heard from him for so long,” she added, as they walked into 
the parlour. 

He sat down in a large flag-bottomed chair, and began to 
draw figures on the sanded floor with a stick, while she retired 
to an end window to read her father’s farewell letter. 

Captain Hutton watched her growing pale and paler as she 
read the letter to its close — as she folded it and advanced 
trembling to his side — as she laid her hand heavily from faint- 
ness on his arm, and speaking in thick, faltering tones, said : 

Tell me ! — I don’t — I’m afraid to understand what this 
means ! But, my father ! Where is he gone ?” 

Hugh took both her hands in his, while the folded letter 
fell to the ground — looked full, looked kindly and gravely into 
her set and anxious eyes, and answered, slowly. 

To Heaven, Agnes.” 

He would have held her hands longer, gazed longer upon 
that beautiful but troubled countenance, as to impart his own 
strength and composure, but she withdrew her fingers, sank 
down upon a chair, and covered her face with her hands. 
Soon between the fingers copious tears flowed. Then she arose 
and slowly left the room. 

What was to be done with this young and beautiful girl ? 
To be sure, there was Hugh’s own home on Hutton Island, 
and there was Miss Josephine Cotter, Hugh’s maiden aunt — 
but the home was so poor, and Miss J oe — so queer ! There 
was no knowing how Miss Joe might receive this poor child, 
so much in need of love and sympathy and care just now. 
After ruminating a long time, he could think of no better plan 
than to at least consult Miss Joe upon the subject. So, his 
hours fft"* the evening being all pre-engaged, he determined 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


76 

to go home early the next morning to break the news to his 
aunt. 


<^You must perceive, Aunt Joe, that I’m in a serious 
dilemma.” 

Well, then, here ! take this reel, and wind oflf this hank 
o’ yarn, while I foot my stocking. People needn’t be idle 
while they’re talking. More idle time is spent talking than 
any other way — as if people’s hands and tongues would not go 
at the same time.” 

Hugh obeyed, with a good humoured laugh. At last — 

Weil, aunt,” he saiJ 

Well, Hugh ! Now begin, and tell me all over, all about 
it, for I don’t know as I understand it — quite !” 

Hugh recapitulated the history of Captain Seabright’s ill- 
ness and death, his last will and testament, and finally, the 
embarrassment in which he found Agnes Seabright, and the 
relation in which he stood towards her, concluding with — 

“Now, what am I to do with her, aunt?” 

“ Marry her, Hugh. There is no home open to the orphan 
but this — nor thisy unless you marry her first. You promised 
to wed her — ^you mean to wed her — why not do it at once ? 
Will the marriage rite hurt or inconvenience you ? Just let 
the marriage ceremony, which gives you a lawful claim to her, 
and which gives her the right to live here in this house as its 
mistress, and which will shut the mouths of the gossips for- 
ever — he performed. ^ An ounce of preventive is better than 
a pound of cure,’ even in matters of gossip. Then bring her 
here to me. I’ll be a mother to the child. I’ll do the best I 
can for her. I’ll make her feel at home, and make her happy, 
even on this lonesome island. I shall like to have her here for 
company. And I will teach her economy.” 

“ Ho not plague her, aunt, no matter how she comes — ^with 
your ^ economy,’ as you call it.” 

“ You told me,” continued the old lady, seeing him hesi- 
tate, “ that she had no father, no brother — so much the more 
reason, then, why she should have a husband ! Since you 
have decided to marry Agnes, the time of the mere ceremony 
will make no difference to you — to her it mry make a great 
deal !” ^ 

“But the recent death of her father — ” said Hugh, 
dueed to hk last best argument. 


THE BRIDE OP THE ISLES. 77 

Yes, I agree tliat in ordinary cases delay would be proper, 
but this is one of the cases that would justify a child’s being 
married at the death-bed of her father, which has often been 
done, you know.” 

^‘Well, aunt, try to make all things comfortable for her 
reception. Let me know of anything that may be wanting ; 
and pra^ do not be ^economical’ — my purse is not a very 
heavy one, but it is at her service — and — the morning upon 
which I sail, which will be in a few weeks, I will marry her 
and bring her home. Which is the best room ? which will 
you prepare for her ?” 

“ Humph ! there’s not much of a choice. She must have 
yours or mine.” 

Mine leaks dreadfully in rainy weather.” 

And mine smokes awfully in windy weather.” 

‘^Well, we must have the roof mended, and the chimney 
fixed. I will send workmen out to do it.” 

Ah, ha ! go to heaving away your money ! Let Pontius 
Pilate get up there and nail a few pieces of plank on the top 
o’ the ruflf, and wedge a few stones into the hole in the chim- 
ney. Never pay money away for what you can do yourself. 
Indeed, now that you are about to be a married man, you must 
be economical, and, indeed, besides, I do not see the use o' 
having Pontius Pilate here, lazy fellow, eating so much. He 
had as well be hired out ; then his wages and his board could 
both be saved. I can do without him. I can row the boat and 
fish the weir, and cut wood myself. And that’s all the use he 
ever was !” 

Who gardens, and feeds the stock, and brings water, and 
catches crabs, and rakes the oyster-bed, and shoots ducks for 
you?” 

Oh ! them little jobs ! he does — but that’s neither here 
nor there.” 

Well, you can’t do without him, then.” 

The next morning Hugh spent with Agnes Scabright. And 
after that he visited her every day, until the orphan’s tears 
were nearly dried, and the maiden’s heart almost won. Still 
the sentiment that united them was not love. On Hugh’s 
part, it was that kindly protective feeling which any right- 
minded, good-hearted man might feel for any defenceless girl 
thrown upon his exclusive care. On Agnes’s side, it was that 
dependent and appealing affection which any desolate child 
feel for her only friend and protector. 


78 THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 

Hugh brought Miss Joe over to see her, and the young girl 
and the elderly maiden took’^ to each other very kindly. 

She is a nice, rosy-cheeked, curly-headed little girl— bright 
and cheerful enough, I can well believe, before her grief came ; 
and she will be so again, I know ! Not thrifty though ; not 
industrious ; not economical j I can see that : but she is 
young enough, and I can teach her,^' said Miss J oe, as Hugh 
was taking her back to Hutton’s Isle after the visit. 

Indeed you must not, aunt ; you must not tease her by 
teaching her anything she does not first ask to learn. Poor 
thing ! poor young thing ! that bleak isle will be lonesome 
enough for her, without your — ” 

It will be everyway better for her, than the village or the 
country, beautiful as she is, and unprotected as she will be 
when you are gone. Besides, I will be glad to have her there 
for company ! I will be a mother to her.” 

Only do not force industry and economy upon her, aunt. 
She is so gentle ! I am too rough and rude for her myself, I 
feel I am.” 

I never had a darter, Hugh, and I always wanted — ! — 
no ! I mean I never had a darter, Hugh, and never had a 
female 7^^ecc, and I always wanted one. So, Hugh, I’ll be a 
loving mother to your little darter— I mean your little wife. 
Be satisfied with that, Hugh.” 

And Hugh tried to be satisfied. At the end of a few weeks 
from this time, Hugh found little trouble in persuading Agnes 
to consent to give him her hand in marriage. 

For the reception of the bride. Miss J oe was making every 
preparation which she could make without spending, or as she 
called it, “heaving away of” money. Hugh schemed “to 
draw all points to one,” so that the marriage should take place 
upon the very day on which he was to sail for Baltimore pre- 
paratory to a longer trip to the West Indies. So, very early 
on a glorious Autumn morning, while the rising sun was 
shining splendidly into the chapel windows, the marriage cere- 
mony was quietly performed in the village church, by the vil- 
lage parson. 

Immediately after the ceremony was concluded, Hugh 
tucked Agnes under one arm, and Miss Joe under the other, 
and hurried down to the beach to get them on board of the 
boat. He lifted Ag^i^s into the skiff, handed Miss Joe after 
her, and entering himself, laid his hand vigorously to the oar, 
and they sped do'ss n th'' stream and over the bright waters. 


THE BRIDE OE THE ISLES. 


79 


It was a golden morning ; grand, exultant, inspiring ! Out 
before them rolled the boundless, the magnificent sea, with its 
myriads beyond myriads of waves, leaping, flashing, sparkling, 
scintillating like fluid emeralds in the dazzling splendour of the 
morning sun. 

As he looked upon this scene, IlugVs eyes kindled, blazed. 
He did not see how sad was the brow of his young bride. 
No i the sea-king had already risen above the lover. 

At last the island lay before them like a line of gold. He 
rowed swiftly for it. Soon they landed on the glittering 
strand. It was here they parted. 

And ! be kind to my little Agnes V’ he whispered, as he 
took leave of the old lady. 

Now, Agnes — ” he said, as. he folded her to his bosom, 
and pressed his first and farewell kiss upon her lips. 

Then he sprang into the boat and struck out to sea in the 
direction of his vessel, riding at anchor, at about a half leaguers 
distance, and which was to sail with the tide. 

Come, Agnes,^' said Miss Joe, kindly taking her arm to 
draw it within her own. 

Not yet — not Just yet ! and if you please — just let me 
watch until the boat gets out of sight.’^ 

Honey, it will put your eyes out to try to look upon this 
sparkling sea. Come ; breakfast is waiting for us, I know.^^ 
wish he had only stayed to breakfast with us ! I could 
have parted with him better then, if I had known he had 
eaten a good warm breakfast.’’ 

“ The tide wouldn’t wait, you know, child, and he will get 
his breakfast on board his vessel. Why, what’s the matter, 
Agnes? I do believe you like him already! I do believe 
you’re sorry he’s gone !” 

“ He was my only friend 1 Since father died I was getting 
used to him,” said Agnes, bursting into tears. 

Well 1 I declare to man, if it is not wonderful ! All them 
Huttons had never seemed to value woman’s love, have every 
one of them always got more than they deserved. Come, Ag- 
nes ; the boat is quite out of sight now ; come home and tak 
a cup of coflee, child it will cheer you up.” 

Ho you think he is safe on board of his vessel yet ?” 

Oh, yes, of course 1 Come, a cup of coffee is first-rate foi 
trouble — cause you see I’ve tried it 1^ Come, honey 1” 

And Miss Joe drew Agnes’s arm within her own, and walke«^ 
ap the isle towt^ 'ds the cottage. 


CHAPTER X. 


HUTTON LODGE. 

A snug thatch house ; before the door a green ; 

Hens in the middling ; duck and geese are seen ; 

On this side stands a coop ; on that a pen ; 

A wood-pile joins. — Allan Ramsay. 

Hutton Lodge, on Hutton^s Island, had been built in the 
palmy days of the family’s prosperity. Hutton’s Island lay 
directly opposite to, and across the mouth of, Hutton’s Inlet, 
and three miles out to sea. Its form was oblong, being a mile 
and a half in length, by a mile in breadth. The soil was poor, 
but not barren. The ground — from its sandy beach, gradually 
arose towards the centre to its highest elevation, upon which 
stood a sparse grove of forest trees — hickory, oak, elm, pine, 
cedar, &c. Upon this rising ground, and in the midst of this 
thin grove, stood Hutton’s Lodge. The island was rich in fish, 
crabs, oysters, and water-fowl. The lodge had been erected 
as a place of temporary accommodation for the Huttons and 
their guests, when it should please them to divert themselves 
with fishing, crabbing, shooting wild geese, canvass-back ducks, 
&c. ; or with celebrating the commencement or close of the 
season with a fish-feast, or a game-gala. The lodge was of 
ample size, square in form, and fronted west towards the 
mainland. It was built of hewn stone, and was two stories 
in height. The lower story consisted of one vast room, with 
walls of unplastered stone, and fioor of levelled and hardened 
white sand and clay. On the west, or front of this room, 
were two large windows, with a wide door between them, look- 
ing towards the mainland. On the east, were two correspond- 
ing windows and a door, opening upon the boundless sea. On 
the south, was a great, broad fireplace, surmounted by a wide 
chimney-piece. On the north, a staircase, leading to the 
second story. This room had been used by the Huttons as a 
sort of rude banqueting hall, upon the festive occasions to 
which I have alluded. 


HUTTON LODGE. 


81 

The second story was divided into front and back chambers, 
both of which opened into a broad passage at the head of the 
staircase. The view from the front chamber commanded the 
mainland, with its inlet, village, rising hills behind, and nu- 
merous farm houses. The view from the back chamber com- 
manded the vast and boundless sea. 

It was to this lodge that Captain Hugh Hutton, of Revo- 
lutionary memory, had retired with his sole female relative, 
his sister-in-law. Miss Josephine Cotter. And here, after his 
death, had the good woman continued to live. 

And here was Hugh Hutton^s home, whenever his ship 
would be in port. And finally, it was to this lodge, or cot- 
tage, as he called it, that Miss Joe was conducting her young 
charge, the widowed bride. 

It was a glorious day, as I said — glorious with sunshine, 
sun-gilded clouds, gorgeous autumnal foliage, and flashing 
waters ! 

From the sandy beach where they had landed, their path 
lay upwards, through a field of corn, rather stunted, but yel- 
low and ripe for the harvest. Beyond this, gently arose the 
thinly-wooded hill, upon which the house stood, facing them — 
its dark gray front relieved by the gay autumnal livery of the 
trees around it — the crimson oak, the golden-hued hickory, 
the dark green pine and cedar, grouping together like mam- 
moth boquets of gorgeous autumn flowers. 

As they reached the top of the hill, and drew near the 
house, they entered a gate, leading into the front yard, and 
passed up a walk paved with dried and nearly calcined oyster 
shells, and bordered each side with brilliant fall flowers in full 
bloom. ^ There was the orange-coloured marigold, the crimson, 
yellow, and white chrysanthemum, the scarlet and black- 
spotted wall-flower, the purple verbena, and many others. 
Over the front door of the house was raised a rustic arbour, or 
awning, of lattice-work, wreathed with running rose-bushes, 
now covered with bright, scarlet berries. 

This is all — every bit — my work, honey said Miss Joe, 
pausing in pride, to point out the various objects of attraction 
in the yard to Agnes. ^^Yes, all my work! This is the 
fruit of industry and economy 1 When I came to live on this 
island, ten years ago, there was not a single growing flower, or 
garden vegetable, or a stalk of com, or a fruit tree on the 
whole island No, there wasn’t even such a thing as a fence 
put up 1 Oh honey I you wouldn’t never guess what barba- 


82 THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 

rians men are unless you saw a place they had all the manage- 
ment of all to themselves. Such a place as this here was I 
Oyster shells and fish hones, and goose carcasses scattered all 
over the ground, from one ind to t’other! Well! what does 
I do ? I takes Pontius Pilate, that lazy nigger, who, ever 
since he went off ranterpouling and vanderhouzing about the 
wars with his master, hain’t been worth a brass cent — and I 
makes him first of all clean up the ground, and put all the 
litter into one pile, to make manure for the yard and garden, 
as I intended to have. Then I makes my black gentleman 
yearn his board and lodging by cutting down of trees, and 
making of a fence, to close in my garden plot. Then I goes 
to work myself ! And the first year I sowed and planted out 
a vegetable garden a-hind the house, and a fiower garden a-front 
of it. Well ! I didn’t stop ! I got some young peach trees, 
and apple trees, and paid for them by weaving, and I made 
Pontius Pilate plant them out for a young orchard, there, on 
the south slope, at the warm ind o’ the house. Oh ! I know 
how to stir about and make idle people work ! Then I had 
that field we came through ploughed, and manured, and sowed 
with grain in the spring. Well, honey ! I wasn’t rich enough 
to buy a cow, and so I bought a cow-calf, and paid for it by 
knitting stockings; and then I brought it up myself. Well! 
I was too poor to buy a sheep, so I bought two lambs, and 
paid for them by netting fish-seines And I got other stock 
and poultry, honey, pretty much in the same way. Never 
heaving of good money away when I could drive a bargain by 
doing work ! Every year I added a little and a little by con- 
trivance and good management. Lord, child ! it wasn’t for 
myself I was a doin’ of it, — it was for my poor, dear, dead 
Nannie’s child — for poor, dear Hugh, I was a strivin’ and a 
filin’ !” 

I am sure Captain Hutton must be very much obliged to 
you. I am certain he is. I have heard him speak very kindly 
of you.” 

“ Lord, child ! it didn’t cost much — only hard work, and 
saving and contrivance — and only just to see the end of it ! 
Here’s a dissolute desert changed into a right snug place ; and 
then we’ve got it all to ourselves, too ! no interlopers to rob 
hen-roosts and apple-trees, or steal sheep ! To be sure, you 
may say it does not take much to feed, and clothe, and lodge 
our little family very snugly, but what it does take, I have 
made this sandy, barren, dissolute little island /etch ! 'Fore 


nUTTO>I LODGE. 8S 

the Lord, honey, the yearth owes us a living, and if we dig 
for it, we^re bound for to git it ! Now just see what I makes 
this little island do ! First there’s the corn-field, as finds corn 
enough for meal and hominy for the family, and feed enough 
for the stock, and some to sell besides; here’s a co^that sup- 
plies us with milk, cream, butter, and cheese; here’s hens, 
ducks, geese and turkeys, that keep us in eggs, poultry, and 
feathers ; here’s sheep that yield wool enough for all the stock- 
ings, gloves, flannel petticoats, and shirts, linsey gowns and 
yarn counterpanes, we ever want. To be sure, honey, this is 
the way I manage — one year I’ll take the wool for socks and 
flannel — the next year, for a bolt of linsey — the third year, 
for a yarn counterpane ; and all these things, honey, you know 
will last a good many years I Well ! to go on ; here’s an 
orchard that supplies us with peaches, apples, and cider; a 
garden that keeps us in vegetables, and a flower-garden that 
keeps us in physicking yarbs — to say nothing of the fish, and 
oysters, and crabs, and wild-fowl, which are the nateral ad- 
wantages of the place. Now I asks you freely — can human 
creeturs want for more ?” 

Nothing, indeed — you seem to have all the means and 
appliances of comfortable living,” replied Agnes. 

Me and Pontius Pilate does all the work. Pontius Pilate 
cuts wood, totes water, rakes oysters, fishes the wier, shoots 
ducks, ploughs and sows the ground — cuts, husks, and grinds 
the corn, beats the hominy, gathers the fruit, presses the 
cider, feeds the stock, sheers the sheap, and so on. As for 
me, I do what very few able-bodied women can do. I tend 
the garden, cut and dry apples and peaches for winter’s use, 
tie up yarbs for sickness; milk the cow, and make all the 
butter and cheese ; card and spin the wool ; knit all the yarn 
stockings, and socks, and gloves ; weave all the flannel, coun- 
try cloth, and linsey-woolsy; make all the yarn counterpanes; 
cut and make all the clothes ; cook, and wash, and iron, and 
clean house.” 

You, like Dame Quickly — 

‘ Wash, wring, brew, bake, scour, dress meat, and do all” 

yourself !” said Agnes, smiling through her tears. 

^^Yes, noney! and take in work to Jill up my leisure time, 
besides. But who is Dame Quickly, honey — any relation of 
yours I 


84 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


“No; she is not a bit of kin tc me, I’m sure; but she is a 
friend of mine.” 

“A stirring, saving, stri/ing, t’iling soul she is, I warrant 
you ! Does she live about here ? I should like to come ac- 
quainted with her.” 

“You shall become acquainted with her; but she lives Ohly 
in a book where I read of her.” 

“Oh, a book ! Dear honey, don’t read books ! They’re all 
lies — and waste time besides ! Lord, honey, where’s the sense 
of it ? You can nyther make anything, nor save anything by 
reading of them books ; and I hold that all employment by 
which you can nyther make nor save, is wilful, wicked heav- 
ing away of time ! I’m a telling of you all this, child, so as 
to larn you industry and economy. Lord, child, none o’ the 
Huttons ever knew anything about economy ! That’s why 
they’re so poor. I did think how Hugh, having some of our 
blood — good, thrifty Scotch blood — in him, would have some. 
But, G-od bless his two old shoes, honey, he’s a bigger fool 
for heaving away of money, than all the rest of them put 
together ! Why, child, they say ^ three removals is as bad as 
a fire;’ now I tell you the truth — one visit home, from Hugh 
is as bad as three fires ; he is so ’structive ! What do you 
think he did, now, for an ensample ? Why, last Saturday, 
while he was a dressing to go over to town, one of his shirt 
buttons come off, and ’stead o’ he putting it into his waistcoat 
pocket, or giving it to me for safe taking care of, he heaves it 
out’n the door. Yes, honey, you may stare with surprise !_ 
but he did it, as true as I am a standing here ; heaved the 
good horn button right out’n the door ! Blessed be my Hea- 
venly Lord, did he ! I s’pose I didn’t spend less than half a 
day s’arching for that button, and it was not found — and I 
don’t s’pose it ever will be found ! It’s lost — clean gone ! never 
be a bit o’ use to any body agin long as the world stands ! a 
good horn button, without a single brack or crack into it !” 

“Was that the worst he did?” very naturally inquired 
Agnes. 

“Worst I Lord, child, wa’n’t that bad enough? a good horn 
button as would never have worn out, and he to heave it away 1 
But, child, nOj that wa’n’t the worst he done. The thing he 
did this very morning I You see, honey, when his feyther 
died he had a nice pair of black kid gloves, as he wore to the 
funeral. Well, when that was over, and Hugh was going to 
sail mate ’long o your feyther, I takes the gloves, and teDa 


HUTTON LODGE. 


85 


ftim long as he wonH want sich luxuries on the briny sea, I’d 
put them away for safe taking eare of. Well, honey, this 
morning, when he was fixing of himself to go ashore and he 
married, I hands him the very gloves just as he left them, 
good as hran new, to put on his hands, when — what do you 
think ! he draws out of his coat pocket a hran new pair of 
white kids, that didn’t cost less than two dollars out’n the 
store, I know ! — and he with one good pair in the house ! Oh, 
Lord I oh, dear ! wa’n’t I tried ! — Oh, Lord ! oh, dear ! it 
gives me a giddiness in the head every time I think of it ! 
It’s enough to dishearten and disencourage any poor, striving, 
filing, contriving soul that ever lived ! — Poor, dear Hugh ! — 
poor, foolish child I I hope he’ll get out’ n his ’stravagant 
ways ’fore he heaves away all the little he’s got left, to say 
nothing of the mite I can rake and scrape together for him. 
Least ways, honey, you and I must try to save at the spigot 
if he will keep letting out at the hung. But I’ve been a 
tiring of you, child, I’m afraid. Come in, breakfast must be 
all ready.” 

They entered the only room on the ground floor. 

This room — parlour or kitchen, as you please — was the very 
model of faultless cleanliness and order. It was always so ; 
Miss Josephine Cotter, like the inhabitants of sandy regions 
in general, and those of the Western shore of Maryland in 
particular — like old maids universally, and herself individually, 
was fastidiously clean, neat, and orderly. The sanded earth 
floor was almost as white, hard, smooth, and level as if it had 
been marble; a blazing wood-fire was roaring in the wide 
chimney; on the right side of the fireplace, the recess was 
filled with white pine shelves, adorned with rows of pewter 
plates and dishes, bright as silver; on the left the corres- 
ponding recess was partly filled by a corner cupboard, through 
the glass door of which shone the clean blue delph-ware cups 
and saucers. The farther end of the large room was occupied 
— ^the one corner by a loom, the other by a spinning-wheel, 
jack and reel. The sides of the room was filled up with large 
flag-bottomed chairs, white-oak tables — white as a curd” — a 
safe where cold victuals were kept, an old-time chest of drawers, 
and lastly, at the foot of the stairs a tall, old-fashioned, coffin- 
like black walnut clock. The windows were brightly clean, 
though here and there a missing pane of glass was supplied by 
a piece of paper pasted in its place. They were shaded on the 
outside with running rose-bushes, that, even at this season, 


86 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


were thick enough for the purpose, and very gay with their 
scarlet seed-berries. This beautiful substitute for blinds was 
the result of a little instinctive poetic taste, and a great deal 
of natural thriftiness, in Miss Joe. She had no idea of heav- 
ing away of money for curtains, when rose-bushes could be 
trained to supply their places. 

In the centre of the room stood the breakfast-table, covered 
with a very white table-cloth, adorned with some of the glis- 
tening blue and white delph ware, and loaded with a very sub- 
stantial breakfast, consisting of coffee, sweet rich milk and 
cream, nice fresh-print butter, new-laid eggs, home-made bread, 
fresh fish, oysters, and a wild duck. 

Miss Joe embraced the young bride, as she welcomed her 
to her widowed home, and said, as they sat down to break- 
fast — 

Everything on this here table, honey, except the cutlery, 
and the crockery-ware, and the coffee, and sugar, is the produce 
of our own little place ; and even the other things were pur- 
chased by what was made on our farm.^^ 

There was a bright mulatto girl attending on the table, 
whom Miss Joe named as Symney-xdimm” one of G-eneral 
G-arnet’s gals, whom Hugh had hired, but whom she intended 
to send home — a threat that she put in actual execution that 
night. 

After breakfast. Miss Joe, leaving Semiramis to wash the 
dishes, took Agnes over the house, showing her first the clean, 
but poorly-furnished chambers, up stairs, with their plain, 
pine toilet-tables, and wash-stands, tin wash-basins, and coarse 
crash towels — with their plain, coarse, blue paper blinds — but, 
alsOj with their faultlessly neat, clean, and comfortable beds, 
covered with blue and white woollen counterpanes, of home 
make, and adorned with full, light pillows, in snow-white pil- 
low-cases. This is an indispensable refinement among the very 
poorest of the neat Western-shore people. 

Then she showed her the loft, with its household wealth of 
home-made fiannel, linsey cloth, blankets, counterpanes, and 
quilts, packed in great sea-chests ; its piles of wool, and hanks 
of yarn ; its bags of dried fruit, and bunches of dried herbs, 
hanging against the wall; and many other things, too nume- 
rous to mention. 

Then coming down, and leaving the house, she showed 
her all over the grounds — into the garden ; through the orch- 
ard; back, lly wayof the poultry-yard; into the corn-loft; into 


HUTTON LODGE. 87 

the root-house, where potatoes, turnips, &c., &c., were kept 
during winter; through every place, into every place. 

Finally coming back to the house. Miss Joe excused herself, 
went up stairs, and laying off and putting carefully away her 
best Sunday gown of new, brown calico, and her Sunday cap 
of clear muslin, reappeared below in her every day suit, con- 
sisting of a striped yarn petticoat, and white cotton short- 
gown, apron, and cap, and sheep-skin mittens. She drew out 
the great wheel, and a pile of wool rolls, preparatory to spin- 
ning, but looking at Agnes, and seeing her silent and sad, she 
said. 

Honey, you look lonesome. Can you card 
No, ma’am.^^ 

'‘Dear me ! can you reelP any body can do that!^^ 

" Yes, I can do that.” 

"Well, honey, go pull off that nice white muslin dress, 
jrhich is too cool for the season anyhow, and put on something 
jtouter and commoner, and come down here, and I will give 
you some reeling to do. It will amuse your mind, child ; be- 
sides, it^s wrong to waste time in idleness.” 

Agnes, obeyed and soon returned in a black calico dress — 
for she wore mourning for her father. And soon the bride 
was busily engaged reeling off yarn by the side of her protec- 
tress, who was turning her whirring spinning-wheel with great 
zeal. And thus passed the morning of Agnes Hutton’s 
strange wedding-day. 

They dined alone. As the day passed, Agnes each hour 
/ealized more and more sensibly, the profound, the wearying 
solitude of their sea-girt home — no forms or faces were seen 
near or far but their own ; no voices were heard except their 
own ; when they would cease talking, the sense of silence and 
solitude would become painfully intense to Agnes’s unaccus- 
tomed heart ; her spirits would have become awfully oppressed, 
but for the lively and various gossip of Miss Joe. She made 
Agnes acquainted, not only with the whole history of the 
Huttons of the Isles, but of the Garnets, of Mount Calm, who 
had once claimed the landward isle, and named it St. Clara; 
of the Hardcastles, of the Hollow, who were so wealthy, and 
of the Wylies, of Yocomoca Point, who were so hospitable and 
so extravagant. 

After an early tea. Miss Joe, wishing to raise the spirits of 
her p msive young protegee, ordered Pontius Pilate to get ready 
the boat, and net, and fish basket, to go and fish the weir, so 


88 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


that Agnes might have an opportunity of seeing it. Then 
she took Agnes, and walked down to the beach, where Pontius 
Pilate, with his skiff, oars, net-basket, &c., was already await- 
ing them. They entered the boat, and were rowed around to 
the south end of the isle, where the weir was placed. 

The sun had set, but the western sky was clear and bright, 
and the moon was high in the east. 

■ Miss Joe and Agnes sat quietly in the boat, while Pont 
fished the weir with a dip net. 

You see, honey, if there was only a market nigh for these 
fish, how much money one could make ; but as it is, all that 
we canH make use of ourselves is so much clear waste. So I 
never ^low Pont to take more than two messes. That will 
do, boy,^' she concluded, as the basket was about one-third 
filled. 

They roWed back to the landing. Miss Joe and Agnes got 
out on the strand, and Pont set the basket of fish out. 

You neednH come ashore yourself, Pont. You have got 
to carry Symneyramis home in that boat. You stay there, 
and I will send her to you. When you come back again, and 
come up home, you can bring the basket of fish.^^ 

They returned to the house, and as Miss Joe was an ob- 
server of very regular and very early hours, she dismissed 
Symneyramis,^^ with her blessing; covered up the fire; 
closed the doors and windows, and telling Agnes they neednH 
wait for Pont, who slept in his own little quarter, in the 
orchard, prepared to retire. She showed Agnes into the back 
upper chamber, and cautioning her about the light, kissed and 
bade her good night ; turning back, however, to say to her. 

If anything scares you in the night, honey, rap on the 
wall behind your bed ; mine, you know, is agin the other side 
0^ the wall.^^ 

Then she retired indeed. Agnes heard her shut her door. 
She then closed and fastened her own by turning a wooden 
button. 


THE NOCTURNAL VISITERS. 


89 


CHAPTER XL 

THE NOCTURNAL VISITERS. 

How beautiful is night ! 

A dewy stillness fills the silent air; 

No mist obscm’es, nor cloud, nor speck, nor stain, 

Breaks the serene heavens: 

In full-orbed glory, yonder moon divine 
Rolls through the dark blue depths. 

Beneath her steady ray 

The lonely island lay 

On the calm waters, girdled with the sky. 

How beautiful is night! — S outhey. 

The large windows of this chamber looked out upon the 
open sea. The night was splendid, with the full moon and 
myriads of stars, which were reflected on the broad and bound- 
less bosom of the waters. It was a night not made for 
sleep.’^ And Agnes blew out her “ dip’^ candle, and sat down 
by the window to enjoy the dark, bright splendour of the 
night ) watching the stars in the dark blue heavens reflected 
in the dark blue sea; watching them dancing on the silver- 
crested waves; watching the waves as they broke in a line of 
diamond light against the golden beach of the isle ; her fancy 
wandering perchance over the pathless main to the distant, 
unknown lands that lay beyond — or following, it may be, only 
the lone ship that had left that morning — projecting perhaps 
into the future, and filling it with the airy, gladsome creations 
of youth and hope. 

Very lovely she looked as she leaned there, her elbow on 
the window sill, her hand supporting her chin, and her beauti- 
ful auburn hair dropping in bright, tendril-like ringlets down 
her cheek and bosom. Her face was serenely radiant, as with 
happiness of a confiding trust. Perchance her spirit ascended 
to that high world above the shining stars, from which her 
parents looked down and blessed their child, from which cer- 
tainly her Heavenly Parent watched her always. 

How profoundly still and lovely the scene was ! no lights ; 
no passing footsteps ; no distant voices ; no signs of human 
life ; no ! for such ^^emed impossible out here in this lone 


90 


THE DlffCTARB-ED DAUGHTER. 


sea-girt isle ! She remained there till she saw‘ a figure of a 
man, whom she recognised for Pontius Pilate, returning no 
doubt from his errand, cross a section of the orchard, and 
enter a little quarter,’^ which was of course his own. She 
remained there until the broad, full moon had ascended to 
its meridian, and midniglit seemed almost as bright as noon. 
It was then, that running her eye along the coast, where the 
waters met the land in a line of flashing light, her attention 
was riveted by the sight of a large boat, manned by six row- 
ers, pulling swiftly and silently towards the beach ; and even 
as she perceived it, so like an arrow had it sped, it had already 
run asjbore, and the six rowers jumped upon the beach. 

Darting her eye out to sea, she discerned the white sails of 
a brig brilliant in the moonlight, and strongly marked against 
the deep blue back-ground of the waters. 

The six men, in the mean time, had lifted something, re- 
sembling a very large and heavy sea-chest, and were bearing it 
towards the interior of the island. Withdrawing her head, so 
as to be shielded from their observation, Agnes watched them. 

When about half way between the beach and the house, 
they turned off towards the north end of the isle, and soon 
disappeared in that direction. 

Agnes withdrew her eyes from their vanishing figures, to 
fix them again upon the boat that was still there, and upon 
the ship which was still in sight and stationary. 

Filled with surprise and wonder, she sat watching for the 
men to return. More than an hour passed, and no change 
took place in the scene. Once or twice she thought of calling 
up Miss Joe, that she might arouse Pontius Pilate, to send him to 
see who these midnight invaders of their lonely isle could be. 
But she distrusted her own fear and wonder. She distrusted her 
instincts. She said of herself what she had often had said to 
her, I am only ^ a weak, foolish girl, frightened with sha- 
dows,^ ” and then, No ! I will try to control myself, and 
not make a mountain of a mole-hill. I will try to learn a 
little courage and self-possession. Hugh, who is so brave, 
shall never hear that the first night I came here I roused up 
the family in a panic of fear, because a few sailors landed on 

our isle to but then what was that great chest for ? and 

why come silently at midnight V’ she suddenly asked herself, 
cut short in her first surmises. Finally — At any rate,” she 
said, will not give the alarm until I see more, and I will 
watch here till they return.” 


THE NOCTURNAL VISITERS. 


01 


But an hour more passed away, and there was no sign of 
their return. All things remained as they were. The moon, 
that had been sinking, soon after this went down, leaving the 
world in that deep darkness that precedes the dawn of day. 
Now that she could see no more, Agnes almost regretted not 
having awakened the family. She closed the window, and lay 
down to rest. But her mind was too excited to admit of sound 
and healthful sleep. A fitful slumber, full of starts, fell upon 
hsr. 

,At last, springing up out of a confused and frightful dream 
of a surprise, midnight marauders, fire and massacre, Agnes 
saw that day had dawned. She arose and went to the 
window, opened it, looked out. The boat was gone from the 
beach, the brig was gone from the sea. 

Morning was red in the far east with the coming sun, and 
red upon the wide waste of waters. Everything was holy and 
beautiful, cool and still. The calmness and coolness of the 
morning soothed and refreshed her, mind and body — the holi- 
ness and beauty of nature drew her soul to prayer and praise. 
She sank upon her knees there where she stood, and bowing 
her head upon her hands, offered up her morning orisons. 

As she arose and left the window, the rising sun poured a 
flood of golden glory into the chamber, reproducing the large 
sunlit windows on the opposite side. 

And then the chirping, cheerful voice of Miss J oe was heard, 
as she came up stairs and tapped at the door, — 

‘‘ Come, honey, come ! here is a pail of fresh water for you 
to wash ! Come, honey, breakfast has been waiting an hour ! 
’Tain’t my habits to Tow the sun to catch me at the breakfast 
table, no how ! Come, honey, come \’^ 

Agnes opened the door, and there stood the brisk little wo 
man, with a wooden bucket of spring water in her hand, look- 
ing as if life depended on haste. 

I am very sorry you should have taken the trouble to 
bring me water, said Agnes, gathering her half-combed, long 
auburn ringlets in one hand, and taking the pail with the 
other. 

‘‘Lor’, child, that ain’t nothing; I ain’t afraid of my 
labour. Come, make haste, honey ! Breakfast is all ready, 
and I want to get that piece o’ cloth in the loom. But, honey, 
I don’t think you slept well. Your cheeks don’t look quite 
BO much like the scarlet rose-berries as they did yesterday.” 


92 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


Oh, hut they will soon said Agnes, smiling ; they 
will as soon as I get to working with you. I want you to 
teach me to spin on the great wheel. 

Poor child ! It’s a pity any one so willin’ to larn as you 
are, should ha’ been left in ignoiunce so long.” 

^^Oh, but I have not,” said Agnes; ^^my dear father did 
not neglect me. He sent me to a day school, where I learned 
tc read and write, and cast accounts.” 

All nonsense, child ! All a pack o’ nonsense !” 

But no — not quite, I think ! I can amuse you and my- 
self, and even Pont, by reading to you as you sit at work, 
these long, lonesome winter nights that are coming.” 

Worse than nonsense, child ! all old Satan’s inventions 
for the waste of time !” 

But then the casting of accounts ! I can keep your ac- 
counts straight for you.” 

Not a fct o’ use, honey ^ I can count up on my fingers 
all the money I yarn and spend. Come, honey, hurry! I’m 
a going down to put the breakfast on the table.” 

The old lady left the room, and soon A-.gnes followed her 
down stairs. They sat down to a substantial meal, more 
various and abundant than many city families of the middle 
or even the upper classes can afford. 

Everything in that region was plentiful, superabundant, 
except money. The reason was obvious — there was no market 
and no enterprise. While sipping her first cup of coffee, Agnes 
said — 

Aunt Cotter, something strange happened last nighc I” 

Strange, honey ?” 

Yes, Aunt Cotter. After you went to bed, ap I was not 
sleepy, and yet didn’t wish to waste the candle so, I blew it 
out — ” 

That was right, honey ! never waste the candle, >^ough it 
is home-dipped.” 

And I went and sat by the open window — ” 

“ Ah, that was wrong I the night air is considerd vc»’y un- 
wholesome in these parts. It’s very apt to give fever’ n’ager. 
I ’spects you cotch an ager, and that’s the reason you look sa 
pale. Yes, that’s what happened to you. Well, honey, it’s 
nothing strange or dangerous I It’s only onpleasant, and you 
must go to bed and take a sweat to-night, and to-morrow y'-^n 
must drink chamomil3 tea to strengthen you — that’s all 1” 


THE NOCTURNAL VISITERS. 

^^Aunt Jotter, I didn’t ha've a chill. I never had one in 
my life. But while I sat there, looking at the moonlight on 
the waters, I saw a brig in the distance — ” 

“Well, child, what of that? that was nothing strange! — 
all sorts of vessels are always going up and down this way, at 
all hours.” 

“ Yes,^ ma’am, but this brig put off a boat which was man- 
ned by six rowers, and they pulled for the strand swiftly and 
silently, and they landed and lifted out some great heavy 
weight, like a large sea-chest, and carried it across the isle 
towards the north end, frequently setting it down to rest, and 
lifting it again, until they passed out of my sight, toward the 
north end of the isle, as I said. I watched for their return to 
the boat until the moon went down, and it was too dark to 
see. Then I went to bed. I woke up at dawn and looked 
out, but the boat and the ship were both gone 1 Perhaps I 
ought to have waked you up when I first saw it, and told you, 
but I did not like to arouse you before I had more cause. 
Now, what do you think of it? — Was it sailors after wood, 
or water, fish, or what ? I’m so inexperienced in this sort of 
life — and what was that great weight which they carried, and 
what were they going to do with it ?” 

“ Lor’, child I how you do astonish me I Don’t you know 
that you fell asleep, and dreamed that? Vessels never come 
near here — never within two or three miles of here. What 
should fetch ’em ? Long as I’ve been living here — ten years 
and more — ^no vessel has ever come nigh the island, and no 
boat has ever come, except from the mainland, saving Hugh’s 
boat, when his ship is near. No, honey, you dreamed a 
dream.” 

“ Indeed it was no dream. Aunt Cotter. And now I think 
of it, this morning, by clear daylight, I think that there may 
be danger ! If any midnight assassins should choose to rob 
and murder us, what could hinder them, or save us ? What 
could even punish them, and avenge us? We are so far. 
removed from our fellow creatures — so completely cut off from 
ihe rest of the world, that we might be robbed and murdered 
with the greatest ease, and with complete impunity to the 
assassins !” 

“ Ah 1 child I — I just wish any midnight marauders wovXd 
come here to molest us ; I’d put a ball through ’em in less 
than no time ! Oh ! honey, I don’t live here onprotecred : 
you see that blunderbuss, leaning up agin the clock ? Beside 
6 


94 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


that, honey, I’m protected like the fairy princess, by a dragon 
with three heads !” 

By a dragon with three heads 

Yes, honey, but the names of my dragon’s heads are Age, 
Ugliness, and Poverty ! You’ll say that my dragon can’t pro- 
tect you, but my blunderbuss can; besides which, here’s Pon- 
tius Pilate, and here’s my bull pup, who will soon grow into 
a terrible animal. But there is no danger, child, never was 
any ; what you thought you saw was only a dream !” 

It was no dream,” thought Agnes to herself, but she would 
not contradict the old lady again. 

After breakfast Agnes stole away alone, and walked down 
to the north end of the isle, for the purpose of examining the 
premises. It was a very cold, bleak, and desolate place — all 
sand, coarse gravel, and large stones — and exposed to the 
dreadful power of the north wind. She saw no signs of human 
footsteps, but then it must be remembered that an army might 
have passed there and left no vestige of their passage on that 
rugged strand. 


CHAPTER XII. 

THE MAIDEN WIFE. 

She shrines within her heart’s core one dear image ; 

She thinks of it all day — she dreams all night ! — ^^I ary Howitt. 

Time passed. The days were all occupied with work — ^yes, 
hard work. All day long the whirr of the fiying shuttle, and 
the dull, monotonous clap-clap of the warp rammer would be 
heard, as Miss Joe sat at her loom ; and the hum of the great 
spinning-wheel, as Agnes stood and spun. Agnes had no 
motive under the sun for her industry but Hugh’s interest and 
Hugh’s pleasure. To become an ef&cient help-meet for Hugh 
— to be an industrious and saving little housekeeper for Hugh’s 
profit. And when Miss Joe praised her docility and perse- 
verance, poor girl, she felt as though she were receiving Hugh’s 
approval. Sometimes she would be tempted to think a little 
hardly of his having gone to sea so instantly after their mar- 
riage; but when this thought took the hue of blame, she 


THE MAIDEIS WIFE. 


95 


banished it at once. But — did he love her at all, when he 
could leave her so soon, and with so little emotion ? She 
feared not. Would he ever love her as she loved him — as she 
wished to be loved? She knew herself to he beautiful and 
attractive. She would have been an idiot not to have known 
it. In her deep and secret heart, while never acknowledging 
her purpose to herself, she sought to adapt herself to her cir- 
cumstances and duties, and fit herself to win Hugh’s approval 
and love. Such were her silent dreams and reveries by day, 
while her spinning-wheel whirled under her hand, and the 
incessant clap-clap of Miss Joe’s loom sounded on her ear from 
the other corner. 

On retiring to her room at night, she would frequently 
watch for the coming of that strange boat, which, however, 
never came. She persevered in her vigilance until the moon- 
light nights were over, and it was too dark to discern any 
object so far off as the beach. Then she gave over the 
task. 

And so November passed, and the greater part of December, 
when one day Miss Joe Cotter having gone to the mainland, to 
Huttontown, to buy coffee, tea, and sugar, returned to the isle 
with a letter from Hugh. It was directed to herself, and not 
to Agnes. And that the young bride felt as a slight only the 
more painful because it was unintentional. The letter was 
merely an announcement of his speedy return home, to spend 
Christmas, and ended with — 

Bemember me to little Agnes, and tell her to be a good 
girl. I believe Christmas-eve is her birthday. Is she fifteen 
or sixteen, then ? Sixteen, I think. Tell her I shall not for- 
get to bring her something pretty. And, aunt, don’t tease 
the poor child with your industry and economy !” 

Agnes might have felt very much elated at the near pros- 
pect of Hugh’s return, but the manner in which he spoke of 
her, with such cruel kindness, very much moderated her emo- 
tions of surprise and joy. Soon, however, the slight vexation 
passed, and Agnes thought of little beyond Hugh’s return. 
She entered heart and soul into all Miss Joe’s kind and affec- 
tionate preparations to welcome the sailor. 

At length the important day dawned •, it was Christmas 
Eve’s eve. The snow was too feet deep on the ground, and 
crusted with a coat of ice thick enough to bear the heaviest 
footsteps without breaking through. The day was cold, crisp, 
but clear. Miss Joe walked all over the ice with as much 


90 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


ease and freedom as tliougii it had been eTune instead of De- 
cember, and she trod grass instead of ice over snow two feet 
deep Though Agnes silently foreboded that she would sink 
through suddenly and break her legs. 

All within the house was very comfortable. There was an 
abundance of good things in the cellar, the loft, and the cup- 
boards — hams and hung beef; oysters and game; home-made 
bread and cake; sweet butter and cheese; nuts and dried 
fruits; cider and persimmon beer; and many more things ^Hoo 
numerous to mention.” 

An enormous fire of great oak and hemlock logs was roaring 
and crackling in the wide fire-place. The hearth was brightened 
up with red ochre. The literally ground floor was covered 
over with fresh white sand. The large windows were clean, 
clear, glistening, and slightly shaded on the outside with the 
clustering brown stems and scarlet berries of the leafless run- 
ning rose vines. The tables and drawers were scoured to a 
curd-like whiteness. The pewter plates ranged on the shelves 
shone like silver plate. The face of the clock was newly 
washed, and the clock itself ticked cheerily. The great fat 
tortoise shell cat sat upon a cushioned chair and purred cosily 
The loom and the big wheel were silent and at rest. And 
Miss J oe herself had taken up what she called her parlour 
vork,” company work,” or ‘‘ holiday work ;” to wit, a reel, 
ind sat in a broad arm-chair by the great fire winding 
farn. 

They were by no means certain that Hugh would arrive 
that day, though as he had promised to be home by 
Christmas, every day now increased the probability of his 
arrival. 

It was nearly sunset when Agnes went up into her room 
for the fiftieth time that day to look at the sea for a sail. It 
was very cold, and there was no fire, so Agnes thought just 
to give one sweeping glance over the waters, and then retire, 
when her eye alighted on a distant sail making towards the 
isle. She wrapped a large woollen shawl around herself, and 
sat down to watch what might come. The vessel bore down 
rapidly upon the island. When within about a quarter of a 
mile and bearing away westward towards the mainland, she 
lowered a boat with two rowers, who pulled swiftly towards 
the island landing. Agnes recognised Hugh and one of his 
crew. She started and ran down stairs, exclaiming, as she 
burst into the kitchen, 


THE MAIDEN WIFE. 


97 


Hiigli is coming ! Hugh is almost here, aunt ! I saw him 
in the boat 

‘‘ Is he said the old lady, quietly ^^Well, then, honey, 
do you take some water up stairs in — in — in my, no, ^our 
room for him to wash, while I put up the supper, so that ho 
needn’t wait.” 

Agnes complied, arranging everything neatly and conve- 
niently, and then returned to the kitchen to assist Miss Joe in 
arranging the supper on the table. 

They had scarcely completed their task, before a sharp rap 
was instantly followed by the pushing open of the door, and 
Hugh entered alone, vigorously stamping the snow off his feet. 

Miss J oe looked at the snow and her soiled floor, and sighed 
heavily, and shook her head before she even advanced to wel- 
come her nephew. 

That greeting over, Hugh extended his hand to his young 
wife with a How do you do, Agnes, my dear ?” and threw 
himself heavily into a great arm-chair by the fire. 

Yes ! it seemed but too true ! the little love Agnes had in- 
spired him with during their short acquaintance had all evapo- 
rated during the not-much-longer sea voyage ! 

Would he go to his room and change his dress? Would he 
have water ? Everything was in readiness for him up stairs ! 

No ! He would stay here in this arm-chair by the chimney 
corner until they should sit down to tea. He did not wish to 
give anybody any trouble. He begged that they would take 
none. Besides, he was so glad to see his good aunt and little 
Agnes, that he did not wish to lose a single moment of their 
company for the little time that he had to stay with them.” 

Then Miss Joe invited him as soon as he should feel him- 
self sufficiently rested, to take off his overcoat, and sit down 
to supper. 

Then Hugh arose, and Agnes quietly took his hat, and 
Miss Joe drew off his overcoat, and inducted him into his seat 
at the table. The supper was a feast; besides the usual in- 
dispensables of coffee, rich cream, fresh butter, and light 
bread, there were oysters and wild ducks, stewed fruit, cakes, 
and so on. 

Hugh asked Agnes how she liked her island home. This 
was the first question he had put to her since his return. 

Agnes answered that she liked it very well. Did she not 
find it lonesome? 

^^No, indeed.” 


98 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


Poor Agnes, in her desire to be agreeable, was totally un- 
conscious of her falsehood. 

Then Hugh turned to Miss Joe, inquiring kindly after hei 
health. 

Oh ! her health was always good, and had never been bet- 
ter than at this moment. 

When tea was over, and the table cleared away, they all 
drew around the fire. Miss Joe, with her reel and yarn, and 
Agnes sitting idle in compliment of Hugh’s return. 

Hugh, on his part, began to tell them of his voyage, of its 
success, of his happiness to find himself at home again ; of a 
certain large and well filled box which he hoped might be 
acceptable to his aunt and Agnes. Whereupon, Miss Joe 
began an exordium on the sin of heaving away” money, 
which was gently cut short by Hugh, who, rising up, an- 
nounced that he really ought to have been back to his vessel 
an hour before, and that he must now take leave of them. 

When shall we see you again 

To-morrow about noon.” 

What ! not before ?” 

No ; I have to go to Huttontown.” 

Well, you’ll stay when you do come ?” 

I am afraid I cannot promise you indeed, aunt ; but, at 
all events, I will see you every day, and make it a point to 
spend the whole of Christmas day with you. Good-night, 
aunt ! Good-night, Agnes, my dear !” 

He was gone. 

The next day Hugh came, accompanied by two sailors bear- 
ing a heavy box between them, which, on being opened under 
the supervision of Miss Joe, presented any amount of hetero- 
geneous finery, equally unsuitable for time, place, persons, and 
circumstances, and which drew from that careful and thrifty 
housekeeper a severe and uncompromising denunciation of the 
sin of extravagance. At the bottom of all was a smaller box, 
which, being uncovered, displayed a large blue-eyed, pink- 
cheeked, round-faced, flaxen-haired wax doll, which Hugh 
took carefully out and presented to Agnes ! Agnes dropped 
the thing in a paroxysm of surprise, vexation, and mortifica- 
tion. 

Miss Joe threw her hands up, shook her head, and exclaim- 
ed : Lor’, Gimini, I think the man’s done, tuk leave o’ hia 
senses ! Oh, my Lor’ ! Oh, Hugh ! you’ll bring my gray 
hairs — ” And here Miss Joe broke down, and sinking into a 


THE MAIDEN WIFE. 


99 


3hair, raised her check apron and threw it over her head, and 
lifted up her voice and wept. 

Why, what’s the matter now ? What have I done V* 
asked Hugh, looking from Miss J oe to Agnes, and back again. 
But Agnes dropped her head upon her bosom, and blushed 
with humiliation, and stooping, took up the doll. Miss Joe 
shook her head and sobbed the louder. 

Hugh remained at home for about a week, paying daily 
visits to the island. After the first few days, it was evident 
that the charming beauty, genial temperament, and loving soul 
of Agnes, was really beginning to affect him. 

On Christmas day, Hugh breakfasted with them; accom- 
panied them to Huttontown to church; returned to dinner 
with them ; and in the evening, by way of diversion, took 
them on board his vessel — his new vessel — ^ The Belle Agnes,’' 
to show it. After seeing the upper deck and the lower deck, 
and looking down the hatchway into the hold, and coming up 
again, and noticing the sails and ropes, and looking into the 
caboose and the sailors’ mess-room, Captain Hugh took them 
into his own cabin. It was roomy and comfortable, compared 
to the size of his vessel. The berth was low, and under it 
the space filled up with drawers. In the middle of the cabin 
was a table, made fast to the floor — and over it was suspended 
a lamp from the ceiling. At the upper end of the cabin were 
two closets, and placed between thpm was a chest of drawers, 
with a white Marseilles cloth laid over the top, and a looking- 
glass hung above it. 

All this womanish foolery was none of my doings. Aunt 
Joe. The cabin remains just as it was when I purchased the 
vessel from old Captain Gfales, who used often to commit the 
ft)lly of taking his wife to sea with him,” exclaimed Hugh. 

Bo you hear him, Agnes ? He calls all neatness and com- 
fort, womanish foolery !” 

It seems to me. Aunt Joe, that he calls only unnecessary 
furniture, like the looking-glass, for instance, ^ womanish fool- 
ery.’ ” 

Still, it seems to me, that Captain Hutton has not a good 
opinion of women,” said Miss J oe, bridling. 

No, aunt, I’m sure he only thinks that what might ba 
very well for women, and quite indispensable for some of 
them, might be quite unnecessary, and even ridiculous for men.” 

This confab was carried on soffo voce while Captain Hugh 


DO 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


going up tlie gangway, and turning, stooping, and extend- 
ing down liis long arm, to assist Miss Joe to ascend. 

After having seen every admissible part of the vessel, the 
party were let down into their boat, and rowed back to Hut- 
ton’s Isle. 


Neav Year’s day dawned. It was the last day he ’had to 
stay at home. They spent this holiday very much as they 
had spent Christmas day — going to church at Huttontown, in 
the forenoon, and returning to the isle to dinner; the only 
variation was, that after dinner, instead of taking them to the 
ship again, which would have been stupid, Hugh took them to 
the mainland, where he hired a sleigh, and gave them a long, 
fine run over the frozen snow. 

The next morning, Hugh came early — unknown to Aunt 
Joe, however, who was out doors giving directions to Pontius 
Pilate about his day’s work. She had returned to the kitchen, 
and was busily engaged, as usual, at her loom, when she was 
very much astounded by a noise on the stairs as of a man’s 
heavy footsteps, and the stair door was pushed open, and Hugh 
appeared, porter-like, with a great trunk — Agnes’s trunk — upon 
his shoulders, a basket in his hand, and a band-box under his 
arm, and followed by Agnes herself^ dressed in travelling gear, 
with another basket and a bundle. 

Miss Joe stared with amazement, without being able to 
articulate. 

‘‘ Why, what in the name of all the saints in Heaven does 
ill this here mean ?” 

I am going to take Agnes to sea with me,” said Hugh. 

‘‘ You are mad ! — you’re gone stark, staring mad !” said 
Miss Joe, turning pale, and revolving, seriously, the possi- 
bility, with the assistance of Pontius Pilate, of putting him 
into a strait-jacket. 

Agnes, you’re not — no ! — you’re not gwine away ’long o’ 
that madman ?” 

Agnes shrunk behind Hugh, leaving him to front the diffi 
culty. 

Come, Aunt Joe, it is all very plain and easy to under- 
stand. I’m not the first man that ever took his wife to sea 
with him. And I have spent so little time with her, too I” 

Spent so little time with her ! — well, whose fault was that ? 
Your own — always heying back to your ship ! I thought 
when you’d a got married, you’d a sold the derned old ship, 


the maiden wife. 


lOi 


and settled down, and farmed your land like a sponsible mem- 
ber o’ society ought for to do ! Stead o’ which you’re a takin’ 
of the poor young gal to sea with you — you iron-hearted, 
block-headed tyrant, you ! She sha’n’t go ! — she sha’n’t ! — 
that she truly sha’n’t ! I won’t let her ! I’ll ’fend her from 
you ! Come here, Agnes ! Come to its old aunty, honey ! 
She’ll be a mother to it !” 

Agnes, am I a tyrant ?” asked Hugh, looking over his 
trunk and band-box-laden shoulders at Agnes, who was cower- 
ing behind him. 

“ You hush ! — I won’t believe her if she says you ain’t ! 
Ain’t you there brow-beating of her now I” exclaimed the old 
lady in a rage. 

Do say something to her, Agnes, my dear, for we must be 
going, and I do not want to part with our good aunt in 
anger.” 

Agnes came out from behind, set down her bundle and 
basket, and going timidly up to Miss Joe, she put her ai-ms 
around her neck, kissed her softly, and said — 

Dearest, good Aunt J oe, I love you better than any one 
in the world, except — but it’s I that want to go. I want to 
go as much as he does.” 

^^But wJiyj why do you want to go? It’s only a whiiA. 
You’re crazy !” 

I — I — I’ve a curiosity to see the ocean.” 

You can see it well enough out o’ your back windows.” 

Aunt Joe, I don’t want to part with Hugh ; and as he 
cannot give up the sea yet awhile, why I must give up the 
land for a bit.” 

Oh, my Lor’ ! This is the upshot of my t’iling, and 
striving, and contriving ! When I thought a wife would 
bring him to stay home, and now, instead of one going to sea 
to make me oneasy, there’s two going to sea — which is twice 
as bad — and one being a bit of a gal, which is so bad that it 
couldn’t be worse. Them as I filed for, too ! Oh, my good, 
loving, patient Lor’, give me patience ! for it’s enough to dis- 
encourage any poor, striving, filing, contriving soul that evei 
lived !” 

Agnes put her arm around her neck softly, and kissed her 
again in silence. 

Judas kisses! Judas kisses!” exclaimed the old lady, 
nitterly. 

Agnes burst into tears. It might have been Agnes’s lym- 


102 THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER 

phatic temperament, but she was rather apt to burst into tears 
as a last resort. 

The old lady now broke out into loud sobs for company. 

Hugh set his trunk, band box and basket down upon the 
floor, and set himself to the task of comforting and soothing 
both. 

Miss Joe was the first to recover. 

Come here, Aggy, my darling child ! You have been like 
a darter to me, honey. Kiss me again. They wan’t J udas 
kisses, honey, none o^ them ! That was only my quick temper. 
They were true, loving kisses, from the sweetest lips that ever 
smiled. Since you will go, Aggy, God bless you, my child I 
God bless you ! I shall comfort myself very well by weaving 
cloth and flannel, and making counterpanes for you against 
you come back. Good-bye And she embraced Agnes 
fondly, and lifted and placed in her hands the basket and 
bundle. 

Hugh now came forward, and for the second time bade his 
aunt farewell ; and resuming his bundles, trunks, band-boxes, 
baskets, &c., set out for the beach. 

^^If I^d only known, I’d a’ had a cup of coffee ready for 
you,” said the old lady j and she looked really pitiable, as she 
stood there in her solitude, watching them as they went down 
to the beach, and embarked on board the little boat, and sped 
towards the distant ship. Having, with the aid of a spy-glass, 
seen them embark on board the ship, Miss Joe turned into 
h3r lonely home and began preparing her solitary meat 


THE PATIENCE OF ALICE. 


103 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE PATIENCE OP ALICE. 

Thou must endure, yet loving all the while, 

Above, yet never separate from thy kind ; 

Meet every frailty with the gentlest smile, 

Though to no possible depth of evil blind. 

This is the riddle thou hast life to solve ; 

But in the task thou shalt not work alone. 

For while the worlds about the sun revolve, 

God’s heart and mind are ever with His own. 

J. Monckton JMilnes. 

It is now twelve years since the marriage of Alice Chester 
tnd lieneral Garnet, and six months since the departure of 
Hugh Hutton and Agnes upon their sea-voyage. 

General Garnet is absent on an electioneering tour, but 
daily expected back. 

It is June, and the scene is the terrace, in front of Mount 
Calm. There are four persons upon the terrace. 

Alice occupies a rustic seat, under the shadow of a locust 
tree. She is still a most beautiful woman, very delicate, al- 
most sylph-like, with her fair, blond beauty, and airy, white 
muslin wrapper. She is calmly pursuing a piece of fine, white, 
knitting-work — that favourite busy idleness of all Maryland 
ladies. At her feet is a very small basket, containing her 
keys, and the ball of lamb’s wool yarn, from which she knits. 
Near her stands a young, mulatto hand-maid, of about ten 
years of age. 

Lower down, upon a step of the terrace, sits her daughter 
Alice, or Elsie, as she was called, for distinction sake. Elsie 
is now a very beautiful child, promising to be much more 
beautiful than her mother had ever been. She strangely 
united the most beautiful features of both parents. She had 
the delicate, Grecian features, fair, roseate complexion, golden 
hair, and blue eyes of her mother, with the passionate, veiled 
gaze, and bewildering smile of her father. She has a finer 
vital and sanguine temperament than either could have pos- 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


104 

sesseJ; a more rounded form, more elastic motion, a more 
joyous expression, a more gladsome cadence in her speech 
and in her laughter. Elsie sat sketching an elm tree from 
nature — the tree stood before her, at some distance on the 
lawn. She was bending over her drawing-board, that rested 
on her lap, until her fair ringlets almost concealed her rosy 
cheeks. She, also, wore a simple white muslin dress, that 
harmonized well with her blooming beauty. Behind her, 
bending over her, stood a youth of sixteen j but for height, 
for breadth of shoulders, and depth of chest, and manly and 
athletic proportions generally, he might have been taken for 
twenty years of age. He was a very handsome boy, with 
bright chestnut hair, waving around a massive brow, and re- 
lieving and beautifying its heavy strength, gracefully as foliage 
shades rock. He seemed to have just returned from gunning, 
for he wore a dress of forest green, his cap lay at his feet, his 
pointers were near, and one hand rested upon a fowling-piece, 
while, with the other, he pointed alternately to the elm tree 
and the drawing, giving Elsie some instruction in her work. 
His dark gray eyes, full of thought, truth, and affection, were 
fixed upon her. 

And while they pursued their work, Alice, from her rustic 
seat, watched them. Alice, looking as serenely happy as though 
her heart had never been broken, her brain never been crazed, 
by calamity, anguish, and despair, verging upon madness ; as 
healthful, amiable, and self-possessed, as though she had never 
sworn, in her frenzy, that she could not survive the sever- 
ance from Sinclair; that neither moral, intellectual, nor phy- 
sical nature could stand the test — the misery of a life with 
Garnet. 

But Divine Providence is kind, and nature is full of reme- 
dial power. We have all strength given us according to our 
need. If our joys are greater in anticipation than in realiza- 
tion, so certainly are our sorrows. 

Alice, in the terrible storm of passion that had temporarily 
dethroned her reason, believed that she could not outlive her 
marriage ; yet she had lived twelve years, and was compara- 
tively happy — possibly happier than many a girl who had 
married for love, or its semblance. 

It is true, that from the hour she awoke from the strange 
torpor that immediately followed her marriage, her religious 
principles had taught her to turn from the memory of Sinclair, 
whenever that memory recurred. She prayed agiinst, she 


THE PATIENCE OF ALICE. 


105 


strove against it, wrenched her thoughts forcibly from it, and 
riveted them to something else. And her prayers and strug- 
gles had produced this happy effect : — the image of Sinclair 
had faded away with the brightest visions of her girlhood. 
And now that that typhoon of youthful passion had long 
passed, and even its memory had almost faded away, her genial, 
affectionate, religious nature made her happy. With such a 
nature, Alice could not live without forming attachments to 
those around her. He must have been a terrible brute who 
could not have been blessed with some portion of her affec- 
tion, by simply living in the house with her for twelve years 
And General Garnet was not exactly a brute. He was very 
handsome, graceful, and accomplished, and habitually polite. 
And now that time had long worn out his jealousy, he had 
ceased all undignified and ungentleman-like interference with 
his wife’s especially feminine occupations and associations. 
Alice was happy with her housekeeping, her garden, her dairy, 
her country neighbours, her favourite Magnus, and her little 
daughter. Yet, had the Angel of Destiny whispered to her 
heart this alternative — Your daughter ! two fates await her — 
to die in her childhood, or live to be an unwilling bride — 
choose for her !” Alice would have answered with a shud 
der, and without a moment’s hesitation, Let her die in hei 
childhood rather. Let her die now rather !” And to have 
saved her from the misery of wedding one she could not love, 
Alice would have been content to lay her heart’s only trea- 
sure, her idolized child, in the grave. 

But no such question of Destiny had yet called back the 
memory of the past, and Alice was happy, as she drew out 
her knitting-needle, and smiled at the boy and girl on the 
terrace. 

At last the sketch was finished, and Magnus pronounced it 
perfect, and threw his shoulders back with a yawn of relief, 
and brought his hands together with a ring, exclaiming, as he 
turned to Alice, 

Now, cousin, let me order the horses, and let us ride at 
once to the beach. I have a fine boat there, and can put you 
and Elsie over to Hutton Isle in less than no time, so that you 
will have two or three hours to spend there to see about — 
what was it you wanted to see about, cousin Alice ?” 

Getting some fine wool dyed for striping yarn counter- 
panes.” 

<‘OhI and ^Aunt Joe’ has the receipt — exactly. Well 


106 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


we can gallop to the beach in fifteen minutes, and I can put 
you over to the isle in half-an-hour, so that you will have 
plenty of time/^ 

Mamma only wants to go over and cheer the old lady/' 
said Elsie, with an arch smile. 

Indeed, I want some wool dyed bright scarlet and light 
blue for my fall counterpanes," insisted the lady. 

Magnus looked up incredulously, his look seeming to say, 

I thought good housekeepers like you, cousin, always had 
wool dyed at home 

Alice answered the saucy look by saying. 

My maids are all very busy — with carding, and spinning, 
and knitting, and weaving ; they have enough to keep them 
closely employed until preserving time, so that I am really 
necessitated to get Miss Joe to dye my wool and smiling, 
Alice rolled up her knitting, dropped it into the basket, which 
was immediately raised by the little maid, and turned to enter 
the house, followed by the latter. 

“ You must have the horses saddled and before the door by 
the time mamma and I get our habits on, Magnus," said Elsie, 
taking up her drawing board, and preparing to follow her 
mother. 

Stop ; here’s Goliah come from the post-ofl5ce — with a 
letter, too — ” interrupted Magnus, going down the terrace 
steps to the shaded avenue to meet the boy. Mrs. Garnet 
stayed to receive it. 

It is from the General, madam," said Magnus, receiving 
the letter from the boy and handing it to Alice. She opened 
and glanced through it. Then turning to the expectant child, 
she said, 

Elsie, your father will be home this evening. He will 
bring with him Judge Wylie, Mr. Ulysses Wylie, Mr. Hard- 
castle, and Mr. Lionel Hardcastle. He requests me to have 
supper ready for the party. So, children, you will have to 
ride without me this evening." 

Oh, I’m so sorry, mamma !" I’m so sorry, cousin Alice !" 
simultaneously exclaimed the girl and the boy, catching each 
a hand of hers, and looking coaxingly in her face. 

She was so like a child herself, with her slight girlish figure, 
fair ringlets, and blooming face. 

Let us stay home with you," said both, pleadingly. 

Nonsense, dear children. Go. See about my wool-dyeing. 
Ask good Miss Joe when she can colour twenty pounds each 


THE PATIENCE OF ALICE. 


107 


of light blue and bright scarlet wool for me. I would like 
you to take her something, only she has so much nervous in- 
dependence — her pride and temper so quickly take offence 
And I’ll tell you how you may console yourselves for the loss 
of my company. Call at Yocomoco — you have plenty of time— 
and take Ambrosia with you, and bring her home with you. 
I will send for Diogenes, with his fiddle, and you shall have 
a moonlight dance on the lawn, while the gentlemen are set- 
tling the affairs of the universe in the drawing-room,” said 
Alice, gayly, and kissing her hand to them both, she sprang 
into the house. 

Alice was soon busy superintending the preparations for 
supper. She had a good deal of the pride of the housekeeper 
and the hostess about her. Every Maryland woman has. 

And that evening Gfeneral Gfarnet entertained his friends to 
his heart’s content. It was a sort of little political party, at 
which Mrs. Garnet was not expected to appear. 

Alice, therefore, presided at the children’s dance on the 
lawn. Old Diogenes was in force,” and surpassed himself 
upon the violin. 

After supper, Lionel and Ulysses left the grave conclave of 
politicians to the discussion of Congress and canvass-back 
ducks, and came out upon the green. 

Lionel was full of the new good-fortune that, had befallen 
him. The dearest wish of his life was gratified ; his father 
had at last obtained for him a midshipman’s warrant, and he 
was going to sea. Alice looked at the wild and wilful youth 
with much anxiety, and wished in her heart that it might have 
b«en otherwise ; that he might have been forced to stay under 
bis father’s protection and surveillance. 

Lionel also, in his frank off-hand manner, informed his 
Cousin Magnus there before them all, that his father had not 
forgotten him either ; that he had arranged with a celebrated 
physician of Baltimore to receive him as a student. 

Magnus received this news with feelings of blended pain 
and pleasure — pain at the thought of leaving his dear Cousin 
Alice’^ and her beautiful child — pleasure at the idea of the 
opening prospect of study, improvement, and independence. 

Elsie never thought o( the evil ; she ouly thought of the 
good ; she threw her arms around his neck, and wished him 
joy and success. 

But Alice was much more depressed than the occasion 
seemed to warrant. Again she caught herself wishing that 

7 


108 THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 

young people could possibly remain at home. All partings 
depressed her. The idea of these saddened her. 

Was the cloud on her beautiful face really sorrow at the 
certainty of losing her loving boy-friend, or was it the shadow 
of coming events ? Alice sighed heavily as she watched the 
young people dance. And at an early hour she recalled them 
to the house, served them with refreshments, and pleading 
great fatigue, dismissed them all to their several chambers. 

She then threw herself languidly into the great easy chair, 
to await the breaking up of the party, and the appearance of 
Greneral Grarnet. She had scarcely had an opportunity of speak- 
ing to him since his return. 

It was not very long before she heard the gentle, cheerful 
bustle of the departing guests; and the ringing tones of Judge 
Wylie^s voice above all the rest, inviting everybody to Point 
Pleasant the next evening, for the purpose of meeting every- 
body else. 

When the last guest had departed, General Garnet entered 
Alice’s parlour. 

Up yet, Mrs. Garnet ! have I been so unfortunate as to 
disturb your rest 1” 

No, oh, no ! I think you were very quiet, for a party of 
gentlemen — ^not at all like the noisy parties Judge Wylie 
gathers. No ; I had no opportunity of welcoming you home,” 
she said, rising, and offering her hand. Have you had a 
pleasant journey ?” 

“ A successful one, madam, which is better. I think that 

there can be no reasonable doubt that D will carry the 

majority of votes in the districts through which we travelled;” 
and he smiled his peculiarly charming smile, as conscious that 
there lay his power 

“ Of winning, fettering, moulding, welding, banding. 

The hearts of millions, till they move as one.” 

So, you had a successful tour? I am very glad.” 

Her next question was a housekeeper’s query ; 

^^How did you like your supper, and were your guests 
pleased ?” 

All was very well, Alice — and, could they be else than 
pleased, after so triumphant a canvass ?” said he, taking a seat, 
and motioning Alice to do the same. I have some thing to 
propose to you, Alice, in regard to our daughter.” 


THE PATIENCE OF ALICE. 109 

Our daughter repeated she, with a vague fear creeping 
over her heart. 

‘‘Yes, our girl — I scarcely approve the loose, irregular man- 
ner, in which her education is conducted at hoine.^^ 

“ It may appear to you so, because her occupations and 
amusements are so various; but indeed her habits — all habits, 
I mean, upon which health and improvement depend — are very 
regular; and for the rest, human nature itself — health, im- 
provement — ^require some little irregularity. The rain does 
not fall, and the sun shine upon set days. See what a bright, 
healthful, happy, intelligent child Elsie is ! Part of that is 
owing to her habits. She rises very early, breakfasts early, 
rides with Magnus, or one of the servants, returns, and devotes 
three hours to her books.^^ 

“ Yes, all that is very well, but there should be a systematic 
course of study, which I fancy you are not quite competent to 
direct.^^ 

“ Try me,^^ said Alice ; “ I have not been idle all my life, 
nor all my life occupied exclusively with the eating, drinking, 
and wearing interests of our family. I have found time to 
cultivate ray mind, for Elsie’s sake. I have read and reflected 
much. 1 expected to be Elsie’s only teacher. I have been, 
hitherto. And I wish, above all things, to continue to be. 
Then I shall feel better assured of her best good; better 
assured that her afiections will not run to waste, while her in- 
tellect is cultivated.” 

“ ‘ A little learning is a dangerous thing.^ It makes any 
one conceited — especially, I think, a woman who has few op- 
portunities of comparing her ignorance with other people’s 
knowledge,” muttered General Garnet to himself. Then 
slightly raising his voice, he said : “ No, Alice, it will not do. 
Elsie cannot remain under your tuition. I have other and 
wiser plans for her.” 

“ I suppose,” said Alice, in a low voice, “ that you are 
thinking of employing a private governess, or tutor. Well ! 
if you think it best — ” 

“ No, Alice, I have no faith in governesses, and I totally dis- 
appiove of private tutors for young ladies. My intention is to 
send Elsie to a boarding-school for the next six or seven 
years.” 

“To boarding-school for seven years ! Elsie ! my darling ’ 
my only one ! away from me for so long ! She ! — so young ! — 
7 


no THE DISCARDED DAUttHTBR. 

io go among total strangers for so long ! no, you cannot, mean 
it I” exclaimed Alice, rising and wringing her hands. 

Sit down, Mrs. Garnet, and listen to me.^^ 

Alice sank into her seat again, and listened. 

There is no female academy of the first class in this 
country, I am sorry to say ; none, at least, at which I should 
like to place our only daughter.^^ 

Alice's hopes raised; she thought she might have misunder- 
stood what he had said before — her mind was so confused. 
She hastened to say. 

Oh, then, you are thinking of some very accomplished 
woman, or some highly intellectual graduate of William and 
Mary, who, though not exactly an ordinary governess or tutor, 
may be induced to cOme and take charge of one little girl for 
a very liberal salary 

General Garnet waived his baud impatiently. 

Hear me out, if you please, Mrs. Garnet. I have told you 
that I dislike private tutors and governesses ! I dislike the 
idea of a stranger domesticated in the house very much. I 
said, besides, that there was no boarding-school in the country 
to which I could care to trust our daughter. I intend to send 
Elsie to England." 

To England !" murmured Alice, in an inaudible voice, 
growing very pale, and sinking back in her chair. 

^^Yes, to England. My friend. General A , is going 

out there as minister. He takes all his family, of course. He 
expects to remain abroad many years. In talking over with 
me his prospects, among other things for which he congratu- 
lated himself, was tJie opportunity that his residence abroad 
would afiTord of giving his daughters a very superior education. 
While we conversed, I spoke of Alice, regetting the limited 
means of female education afforded by our country. Well, he 
proposed that I should commit my daughter to his charge, to 
go to England, and be put to school with his own. He pressed 
this favour very earnestly upon me. The opportunity was 
one not likely to occur again, and therefore not to be likely 
thrown away. Finally, I accepted his offer. It was all arranged 
between us. The embassy sails from Baltimore in two weeks, 
and before that time Elsie must be ready to join the family." 

In two weeks !" repeated Alice, in a sinking voice. 

Yes, in two weeks; so that we shall have to be expeditious. 
I shall have to take you and Elsie up to Baltimore almost im- 
mediately, to give you an opportunity of fitting her out for the 


THE PATIENCE OF ALICE. Ill 

voyage. It was upon this account that I opened the subject 
to-night. I wish you and Elsie to be ready to accompany me 
to Baltimore in the packet of the day after to-morrow. Now 
I have to go and write letters before I sleep ; but you look 
very pale, Alice ; you must retire instantly. Good-night V’ 
So saying, General Garnet arose, passed into the adjoining 
library, and closed the door after him. Alice started up with 
the intention of following him, but feeling that this would 
offend him then, she sank back in her chair, clasping her 
hands together, and crying, “ Oh, good Lord ! is there no way 
to help this Soon gathering strength, she retired to her 
own chamber. 

The mother and daughter occupied the same suite of apart- 
ments. That is to say, the mother occupied the right-hand 
front chamber, while the back one, once used as a dressiug- 
room, was now appropriated to Elsie as htr own apartment. 

Alice entered her chamber, but weary as she was she could 
not rest — she could not even breathe freely. She took off her 
tight dress, and threw on a loose, white wrapper, and walked 
about uneasily. Presently she passed into her daughter’s 
chamber. She glided to Elsie’s bedside. The child was sleep- 
ing sweetly ; her rosy cheek resting upon her moist, golden 
hair — her rosy arms thrown over her head, and almost breath- 
ing themselves, they seemed so full of life and warmth. With 
a gush of tenderness, Alice stooped over her beautiful child, 
pressing kisses on her hair, on her clothes — longing to press 
the full rosy lips, but 

Stifling the mighty hunger of her heart, 

lest she should disturb the happy sleeper. She dropped on 
her knees by her side, and spreading her arms over her, raised 
her eyes to Heaven in mournful love and prayer. And there 
she knelt, watching the beautiful and happy sleeper, and 
breathing blessings upon her, until the step of General Garnet 
sounded on the stairs, when she arose, lightly kissed her brow, 
and glided away. 

As Alice left the chamber of her child, it occurred to her, 
for the first time in her life, strenuously to oppose her hus- 
band’s will. 

As she re-entered her own room. General Garnet was stand- 
ing before the mirror, taking off his cravat. 

He turned around with one of his fascinating smiles, as she 
went up to his side, and raised her eyes pleadingly to his. 


112 


THE DISCARDED DAUaHTER. 


‘^Well, Alice, what is it?’^ 

came to say something to you about your project of send- 
ing Elsie away. She is too young, poor little thing, to be sent 
away from home, to such a great distance, and among entire 
strangers — it will break her heart almost, indeed it will. Or 
else her aiffections will be weaned from us, and her heart grow 
so hard, so hard and cold ! Oh ! do not send her away from 
all she loves, so suddenly. The education of the head is not 
all in all for a girl ; the heart has some claims — I think the 
greatest claims.^^ And so she talked, and pleaded, and wept 
— thinking that because General Garnet listened to her with 
attention, she was making some impression. 

But General Garnet was a gentleman who could unite the 
most polished suavity of manner with the most cruel inflexi- 
bility of purpose. 

At the end of all Alice’s arguments, tears, and prayers, he 
let her know, in the most polite manner possible, that her 
experience was very limited — her opinions, therefore, very 
erroneous, and her view of the present question entirely wrong. 
Finally, that his purpose remained, and would remain, un- 
changed. And Alice retired with one dread thought, like 
nightmare, oppressing her heart and brain — the thought that 
very soon the ocean would divide her from her child, for a 
long, indefinite number of years. 


In the course of the month, their departure took place from 
the neighbourhood. 

Elsie Garnet, with many tears, left for her English school, 
under the protection of the American Minister to the Court of 
St. James. 

Lionel Hardcastle sailed as midshipman aboard the United 
States ship Falcon. 

And Magnus Hardcastle, taking a most affectionate leave 
of his beautiful friend, Alice, and promising many letters, left 
for Baltimore, to enter upon the study of medical science, in 
the office of a distinguished physician. 


ALICE’S VISIT TO HUTTON ISLE, 113 


CHAPTER XIV. 

ALICEAS VISIT TO HUTTON ISLE. 

“At eve a sail 

On the blue water with a freshening gale.” — Ceabbb. 

It was a bright evening near the last of October. The 
mail had just come in, and brought Alice letters, to gladden 
her heart for many months. There was a letter from Magnus, 
— that strong, confident, joyous Magnus, who always saw so 
much good and glory in the future. And there was one post- 
marked London, and ship-marked Belle Agnes,^^ from Elsie — 
that healthful, hopeful, happy Elsie, who always made the 
best of everything, and was gladsome everywhere. No letter 
could be more replete with the tenderest filkil affection than 
hers, yet there was not a word of home-sickness, or sorrow, or 
discontent in it. It was full of genial life, of happy love, and 
confident hope. 

Alice kissed the loving letter again and again, and walked 
about, happy, restless, overjoyed. General Garnet was away 
from home again, as he was about half the time. And Alice, 
after she had read the welcome letter to all the confidential 
servants who loved Elsie, bethought herself— by way of ex- 
pending some of the extra life she had received — of going over 
to see Miss Joe, and telling the old lady that her nephew’s 
vessel was in port, for that she had got letters by it. She 
knew the old soul would also be delighted to hear from Elsie. 

Alice summoned Diogenes, told him to gear up the one- 
horse chaise, and take her over to Huttontown. The chaise 
was soon ready. Alice entered it, and was driven by Diogenes 
over to the village. She left the chaise at the Neptune and 
Pan, and, attended by Diogenes, went down to the beach. 
The afternoon was very clear and calm : 

“ The air was still, and the water still.” 

and she felt no uneasiness in trusting herself to the little skiff^ 
and '■he one oar to the old servant. 


114 THE DIBCABDEI) DAUGHTER. 

As they glided over the silent waters — the profound still- 
ness of the air and water was vaguely disturbed by a distant, 
deep-toned, solemn moan, swelling on the horizon like the 
breeze upon a mammoth harp-string, and dying away in the 
deep of silence. 

Did you hear that asked Alice of her attendant. 

No, ma’am, I heard nothing. Miss Ally,” replied the 
obtuse negro. 

And Alice thought she was mistaken. The bay was per- 
fectly smooth, yet it seemed to Alice that the vast body of 
water under them just perceptibly rose and fell, as though in- 
stinct with life and breath. The little skiff sped like an arrow 
across the bosom of the waters, and in something less than 
half an hour, cleared the distance between the mainland and 
the isle. The old negro stuck his oar into the sand, and 
shoved the boat up high and dry upon the beach, so that his 
mistress could step out dry-shod. 

‘‘Does not the wind blow around this bleak island even 
when it is calm along the coast of the mainland ?” asked Alice, 
as she gathered her flapping veil and shawl more closely 
around her, and stepped upon the strand. 

“La, no. Miss Ally, ma’am, it never doesn’t, of course; 
dough when der is a win’, it has more ’siderable of a clean 
sweep^here than anywhere else. No, Miss Ally, no, ma’am; 
but de win’ do seem for to be a visin’.” 

“ Come, let us hurry on to the house, for really it is quite 
fresh,” said she, drawing h^r veil down over her face and 
under her shawl, and wrapping the latter more closely around 
her, and striking into the narrow path leading through the 
cornfield, and up to the house. But when she had got about 
half-way up the hill, the wind took her so fiercely, flapping 
her skirts about her feet, flapping her bonnet and veil about 
her face, that she was forced to turn around to recover breath 
and strength. 

“ I can scarcely face this gale ! how very suddenly it has 
sprung up !” 

“Yes, ma’am,” replied the old negro, looking uneasily at 
the sky; “I — I — mos’ wish us hadn’t a vente'red out ! I — I 
— do hope us ain’t a gwine to have a squeeling, knocking 
storm afore us gits back !” 

“ Oh, it is entirely too late in the season for an equinoctial 
*torm,” replied Alice, following his glance to the sky. “ The 


ALICE’S VISIT TO HUTTON ISLE. 115 

wind has blown a few straggling clouds up from the horizcn, 
but it does not look at all threatening.’^ 

«lh, Miss Ally, you don’t know, honey ! Der ain’t never 
no good in dem are switchy mare’s tails I” replied Diogenes, 
pointing to the long, black, ragged clouds flying before the 
wind. Holding her head down, and hugging her shawl tightly 
about her, Alice pushed on towards the house. 

Looking up as she reached the top of the hill, she saw Miss 
J oe with her head far out of the gable end loft window, with 
an old spyglass in her hand, levelling it out to sea. Miss 
J oe lowered her glass for a moment, and perceived Alice, and 
shouted to her above the blast. 

How do you do, Mrs. Grarnet ? Hasn’t this here bluff of 
wind come up sudden ? ’Tain’t agoing to be anything hut a 
wind, though, I believe. Come up to the house, honey. I’ll 
be down from here about the time you get up. I have just 
been looking out after that there vessel down the bay, as I 
think must be Hugh’s, seeing I’m expecting him. I spied 
that there craft about two hours ago. She was making slow 
headway, because the tide was strong agin her. Now sho 
seems farther off than before. I shouldn’t wonder if this gust 
of wind, with the current, didn’t blow her out to sea agin. I 
hope it ain’t nothing but a gust, though, that’ll soon be over 
The wind bluffs around as if it were agoing to change, too, — * 
then it’ll be fair for her, and she’ll scud along fast enough be- 
fore it. Come up to the house, honey ! I’m coming down.” 

Alice reached the garden gate just as Miss Joe opened the 
nouse door, and came out to meet her — her clothes all blown 
aslant, and flapping about es if they would go over her head, but 
looking so hardy, sturdy, storm-proo^ with her shining face ru- 
bicund with joy and welcome. Alice laughed out to see her. 

Dear Miss Joe ! you look chirping as a frosty morning ! 
It enlivens one to see you ! I have heard of people who, going 
out for wool, returned shorn. I have come to cheer you, and 
shall go home gladdened ! You look so chirp !” 

Oh, honey ! I have enough to chirrup me. I’m heern 
from Hugh and his wife. You saw that sloop in at Hutton’s 
Harbour ? Well, that there sloop, she came from the port of 
Baltimore, where she spoke the Belle Agnes, jest in from Liver- 
pool, and brought a letter from Captain Huttton, saying as he 
should run down here soon as ever he unloaded his cargo, and 
took in some freight for this here port. His letter says, how 
Agnes is going for to stay long o’ me now. ’Deed, I r^cko»i 


116 THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER^ 

she^s had enough o’ seafaring, a’ ready !” said Miss Joe, as she 
straddled on towards the gate, and opened it. Come in, Mrs. 
G-arnet; come in, my dear child. You look almost beaten to 
death with the wind. Your face is right down blue with cold, 
and your hair is blown all over you, like tangled yellow silk. 
Is that you, Diogenes ? They may well stint your ugly name 
to Dodgy ! I never did see such a lazy, good-for-nothing old 
nigger, in all my life ! No; nor one ’fraider of his labour I 
Why didn’t you take your young mistress up, and fetch her 
up the hill through this wind, you great lazy horse ?” 

’Cause young Mist’ wouldn’t o’ let me. It’s been twenty 
odd year since ever I carried Miss Ally about.” 

Oh, good excuse ! never seen a nigger yet, that hadn’t one 
alius ready ; keep ’em constantly on hand, as the shopkeepers 
say. I wish I had the driving of you, that’s all. Come in, 
Mrs. G-arnet; come in, honey. You’re almost frozen,” con- 
tinued Miss Joe, putting her arm around Alice, hurrying her 
in, and seating her in the big, flag-bottomed chair by the fire. 

You, Dodgy, go to the wood-pile, this minute, and bring in 
an armful of brush. Come, stir your stumps ! — don’t you see 
your young mist’ss’s teeth chattering with cold ? — don’t you 
see she’s a’ most got an ague ?” Then, turning to Alice again, 
she untied and removed her bonnet, drew ofi* her gloves, and 
rubbed her hands. How deliky you are, honey ! jes’ like 
your mother. There, put your feet to the fire, honey ; let me 
pull off your shoes. Bless the little, tiny feet ! — they are like 
dabs of ice. You, Dodgy /” 

^‘Yes, ole mist.” 

^^I’ll ^ole mist’ you, if I come out there after you! Are 
you going, to be all day at that wood-pile?” 

No, old mist’, here I am,” said Diogenes, coming in laden 
and covered with brush, like Malcolm’s army under the wood 
of Birnam. 

There I put that on the fire. There, that’s a blaze for 
you ! Now, you take that bucket, and go to the spring di- 
rectly. I want to give your young mistress a good hot cup 
of tea. Don’t you hear me ?” she exclaimed, wrathfully, as 
Diogenes stood there rubbing his hands and wrists for cold. 

Don’t you hear me ? You’ve got no feeling for your Miss 
Ally, you old brute !” 

Yes, I has. I’m a gwine; sure, I alius did the bestest I 
knew how for Miss Ally! I’m toted her on my shoulders, 
and sung her songs, and played her tunes, and told her stories, 


Alice’s visit to button isle. 117 


ever since she was a little gal. An^ Fm jes’ as willin’ as ever 
I was; on’y I ain’t as young as ever I was; I nuthin’ now, 
but on’y jes’ a super-naturalated ole gemman.” 

Begone ! take that bucket up, and make off with your- 
self after that water, you old sinner ! There, you ain’t a bit 
older than I am, this minute ; and you want to sit yourself 
down in super-antediluvianated old age ! For shame I” 

Diogenes was routed out with the pail. 

Miss J oe went out into the shed, and returned with a bunch 
of partridges ; she came in blustering like the goddess of the 
wind. 

Lord Gfimini ! how it blows ! It’s a’ most tuk the skee’rt 
o’ my gown over my head.’" 

Dear Miss Joe ! don’t give yourself so much trouble on 
my account. I — 

Lord, child ! tain’t a trouble, it’s a pleasure. If you only 
did know what a lonely place this dissolute isle is ! What a 
dreary thing it is to sit down three times a day to a lonely meal, 
all the year round, from the first o’ Jinawary to the thirty -first 
o’ December ! If you did but know what a comfort it is 1?o have 
some one come and take a dish o’ tea with me ! It’s more 
nor a comfort ; it’s a downright adventure. ^ I’ by itself — I 
is the most lonesomest word in the king’s English.” 

“ But, Miss Joe, I really did not come to stay; I only came 
to see you, and to ask when you had heard from your ab- 
sent friends, and to tell you that Hugh’s vessel is in port — 
which I find you know already — and that I had got a letter 
by it from Alice, who is well and happy, and sends her love 
to you.” 

Grod bless the child ! So she is well and happy ? Well, to 
be sure, to see the mercy of God!” exclaimed Miss Joe, taking 
the bucket of water from Dodgy, filling the kettle, and hang- 
ing it on the fire. Then followed a number of questions; 
which Alice answered by reading the letter. And all this 
time Miss Joe was not listening in idleness, but flying about, 
in and out, hearing the news by snatches, driving Diogenes to 
pick and dress the partridges for the gridiron, while she beat 
the dough for biscuits. 

Very, soon the neat tea-table was set out, and a repast, deli- 
cate and luxurious as any epicure could have desired, spread 
upon it. And Miss Joe arranged Alice in a comfortable seat 
at the side of the table near the fire, and as she poured out 
the fragrant tea, she told all the story/ of the letter she had 


118 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


got from Hugh. How they had made such a prosperous 
voyage ; how Hugh was going to stay home for three months ) 
how Agnes was not a going away again at all ; and how she 
supposed Agnes was cured of her curiosity to see the ocean. 
And through all her talk, Alice saw how much family affec- 
tion was in that old frost-bitten heart of hers. 

After tea, Alice arose in some anxiety. 

What’s the matter now, honey V’ inquired Miss J oe. 
must go. You must excuse me for leaving you so soon 
after your very early tea; but that was the only condition 
upon which I could stay, you know.’^ 

^^But Lord, child — ” 

Bear Miss J oe, pray do not press me now. See, the sun 
is not half an hour high ; and I must be home by our own 
supper hour. I have some expectations of the Greneral’s re- 
turn ; and it would not do for me to be absent at the moment 
of his arrival, especially as I have Elsie’s letter, which he will 
wish to see immediately.” 

“ But, Lor’ A’mighty ! does the ’oman think how she can 
put to sea in that there egg-shell of a little skiff, in such a 
wind as this ? Why, there’s Bodgy could tell you ’twould be 
to the risk of your life. Wouldn’t it, you old creetur?” 

■ ^^Be win’ very high, ’deed, Miss Ally; and dis ole nigger 
can’t swim no more ’an a cork.” 

Is this so ?” asked Alice, with trouble on her face. 

Yes; it is so,” replied Miss Joe; ^^but just wait half an 
hour, honey, till the sun sets, then the wind ’ll be sure to lay 
just as sudden as it riz.” 

Alice sat down trembling. 

If the G-eneral should come back, and find me gone, he 
will be so vexed !” she murmured, almost unconsciously. 

‘‘ G-eneral Garnet better behave himself ! If he says any- 
thing to you, honey, jes’ tell him I wouldn’t let you risk your 
life in tfiis gust of wind. So I wouldn’t ! I’d go and split 
up the little skiff for fire-wood, first ! J es’ tell him I stopped 
you, and let him come to me. / ain’t ’fraid of him ! I jes’ 
wish he would come to my castle, with his black thunder-cloud 
of a frown, or -his jack-o’-lantern smile ither ! If he wouldn’t 
get as good a whipping as ever he got when he was a school- 
boy ! If I didn’t make my old hickory broom talk to him !” 

‘‘Come, Miss Joe, you really will drive me home in the 
gale, if you speak of my husband in that manner,” said Alice 


CHILD OP THE WRECK. 


119 


CHAPTER XY. 

NIGHT AND STORM ON THE ISLE — CHILD OF THE WRECK. 

The strife of fiends is on the battling clouds, 

The glare of hell is in the sulphurous lightnings. 

This is no earthly storm ! — Maturin’s Bertram. 

The sun went down. The wind seemed to lull. Alice 
arose and put on her bonnet and shawl for a start. Old Di- 
ogenes buttoned his coat up to his chin, and took up his old 
felt hat to attend her. Miss Joe threw her check apron over 
her head to accompany them, and the little party opened the 
door and set out for the beach. The eyes of old Diogenes 
rolled — 

“From heaven to earth, from earth to heaven,” 
in a great trouble ! 

Though the sun had but just set, the sky was no longer blue, 
but of a lurid, metallic, coppery colour, mottled over by leaden 
clouds, athwart which, and lower down, scudded huge, black, 
inky masses of vapour, driven wildly before the wind that had 
shined, and was again rising. Lower down and nearer the 
earth flew other clouds, flocks of wild sea-fowl, screaming 
frightfully, and dashing hither and thither, or settling upon 
the island as for shelter from the coming tempest. Such was 
the sky. 

The look of the sea was still more terrible. The surface of 
the water was very rough, the waves breaking into foam as 
though frost were thrown up from the depths of the sea. The 
whole enormous mass of waters was rising, with a vast, slow, 
mighty swell, as though some monstrous under power, were 
labouring to upheave the ocean from its bed, and shatter 
it into precipices and caverns. And all around the lurid 
horizon boomed the low, deep, awful sound of the coming 
storm. 

It will never do to try to cross the water to-night, my 
dear child/' said Miss Joe, solemnly and fearfully. We're 


120 THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. ^ 

going to have an awful storm, and it may burst upon us at any 
minute/^ 

“ ^Deod, Miss Ally, child, it^s wery unsafe ! wery ! Don’t 
let’s be a temping o’ Providence ! Don’t !” said Diogenes, his 
teeth chattering with cold and terror. 

Just then the voice of the wind wailed across the waters lilre 
the shriek of a lost spirit ; and the salt spray of the sea was 
dashed in their faces. The sky seemed to be settling down 
over the isle, and the waters, black, heavy, and dark ! The 
mighty sea was heaving, settling, rising to meet the lowered 
sky ! The vapour of the clouds and waves seemed interming- 
ling ! The rising wind howled and shrieked ! 

Well, child, if you venter upon the water this evening, 
you’ll row to the Kingdom of Heaven,” said Miss Joe. Turn, 
hurry back ! We must get to the house as fast as possible, or 
the storm will be upon us ! Child, alive ! what are you stand- 
ing looking out to sea for ? I do believe you are more afraid 
of braving Ceneral Grarnet’s anger than that of the wind and 
sea themselves.” 

I should not have come,” said Alice, turning, shuddering, 
away from the beach. 

By-the-way, this is the manner in which people very often 
judge themselves and others, very unjustly, by the result. If 
Alice had got home safe, her heart would have approved her 
visit of kindness to Miss Joe. But she was overtaken with a 
storm, and she said, 

I should not have come.” 

Yes you should !” replied Miss Joe, ^^and now you should 
comeback! hurry! hurry! hurry! Look at that mass of black 
cloud rushing like a demon up the sk^;!” 

It was now very dark, and they hastened on towards the 
house. They reached it as a furious blast of wind drove them 
against its walls. They were in the house. Shutters were 
closed, props were placed against the doors to assist the old 
locks in holding them against the fury of the storm. And as 
the room was now pitch dark, except by the lurid light of the 
smouldering fire. Miss Joe lit a candle and set it on the mantel- 
piece. Alice sat down in the chimney-corner arm-chair, very 
pale. Diogenes, who was a Catholic, stood crossing himself. 
Miss J oe walked restlessly up and down the floor, saying, as 
file wind would drive against the house, Oh, Lord ! save 
Pontius Pilate from the stormy waves !” 

<Whar him?” asked Dodgy, turning around, with his hat 


CHILD OF THE WRECK. 121 

still rammed over his head, and his hands still dug into his 
eurtout-coat pockets, whar him 

Oh ! he is out in the oyster-boat ! He’s out in the oyster- 
boat ! Oh, Dodgy, you’re a nice old man ! a first-rate old 
man ! indeed you are. Diogenes, you’re a filing, striving, 
thriving creature, indeed you are. Can’t you just go down to 
the beach — you’re strong — and get into the boat, and row 
around to the North bank, and see if you see Pontius Pilate? 
I’m afraid he’s got the sail up. Do go, Diogenes ! — that’s a 
good soul ! — you were always such a willing soul I — do go, 
Diogenes !” 

Lor’ Gor A’mighty, ole misf , dis nigger can’t swum no 
more an a fish ! — ’deed can’t he ! — ’sides which, he ain’t ’fessed 
hisself to the pries’ since las’ Easter ! — so if dis ole nigger put 
to sea dis yere night, he no row to de Kingdom o’ Hebben, 
but ’trait to the oder place ! — so you see you mus’ take a ’side- 
ration on to it, misf ess, an’ let me off dis time ! Oh ! Lord 
Marster Jesus ! what a blast was thar !” he exclaimed, as one 
of unprecedented fury shook the house to its foundation. 

The storm raged, sliriek, and howled around the house. 
Hourly its violence increased ; tenfold the crash of falling 
trees, twisted otf at the roots, the clatter of rattling tiles and 
shingles, reft oif and rained down from the roof, the scream 
of the frightened water-fowl, the howl of the alarmed cattle, 
mingled with the shriek of the wind and the thunder of the 
waves in the grand diapason of nature’s wildest, most terrific 
harmony. 

Alice sat with her hands clasped upon her knees, and her 
head bowed, perfectly still, in the arm-chair, in the chimney- 
corner. 

Miss Joe, to save time, if she lost Pontius Pilate, the oyster 
boat, and everything else, sat nervously reeling off yarn, in 
the opposite corner. 

Diogenes seemed now possessed of the walking demon, foi 
he rambled up and down the floor to the farthest extremities 
of the vast, darksome room, crossing himself devoutly, and 
ejaculating. 

Oh, Lord ! ef I’d only ’fessed myself to de Pries’ yes-day \ 
Ef I’d only ’fessed myself to de Pries’ yes’ day !” 

At last, a blast of incredible power and fury stormed the 
house; shutters and tiles clattered down; a chimney fell, with 
H terrific crash ; the house was felt to tremble with them. 


122 


THE DISCAKDED DAUaHTER, 


Alice, shuddering with a deadly terror, crouched down, 
clasping her hands. 

Miss Joe sprang up, overturning her reel, and no longer 
thinking of the oyster boat, or Pontius Pilate, but of the 
noble sMp she had spied in the afternoon, and of her noble 
boy, Hugh, exclaimed. 

Oh, my Grod ! what will become of that vessel ? — what will 
become of that vessel and went wildly about the room, un- 
able to sit down. 

Diogenes dropped upon his knees, lifting both hands to the 
ceiling, as if to ward olf a falling blow, and in a panic of fear, 
ejaculated, 

Oh, Marster Lord ! Oh, Marse ! Not now ! Not now, 
Marse! Not yes’ now! Spare us poor sinners a little longer! 
Hail, Mary, full of grace ! Hooly St. Peter, pray for us, as 
you was in a storm yourself, you know ! All de hooly ’pos- 
sels and vangels pray for us ! Oh, Marse !” 

^^ Hush ! Hush!” exclaimed Miss Joe, peremptorily, while 
wringing her hands ; ‘‘ is it not enough to bear this horrible 
storm, without hearing your horrible prayers ?” 

But not for Miss Joe, or any other living creature, would 
Dodgy have bated his breath now. He was a thousand times 
more afraid of the wind than he was of anything else in the 
world. 

At last came the awful crisis of the storm. The wind had 

“ paused to gather its fearful breath,” 

and now rushed upon the house with the invincible power of 
a storming battery, with a sound, a shock, as if two planets 
had met in fatal concussion. The earth trembled ; the mas- 
sive roof of the strong house was torn off and hurled aloft ; 
heavy blocks of sandstone came clattering down from the top- 
most wall, and then the rain fell in vast sheets, as if “ all 
heaven was opened.” And now came a sound more terrific 
than that of an advancing army — 

The ocean was upon them in its might. 

Spechless with awe, like those in the immediate presence of 
sudden- death, Alice and Miss J oe remained locked in each 
other’s arms. The old negro ran wildly about, like One per- 
fectly distracted, screaming. 

Oh, my God ! my God ! we shall be all drown ded in this 
very house, like blind puppies in a tub ! Oh, will nobody 
Tess me o’ my sins? Oh, Lord ! I ’fess to de breaking o’ all 


CHILD OF THE WRECK. 123 

de ^mandments, rather dan miss absolushum for them as I has 
broke I” 

And so he ran about and raved, while Alice and Miss Joe 
remained motionless, waiting for death where they sat. 

The water that dashed against the wall was no longer the 
rain, but the sea; the sea cannonading the house. 

An hour like an eternity passed, during which the waves, 
with deafening sounds, stormed the walls, and the inmates 
waited for death. Then the horrible tempest seemed to abate; 
the ocean seemed to be retiring. 

Oh, were the waves indeed receding, or was it only one of 
those fatal pauses, during which the storm fiend gathered new 
— strength for destruction? 

Alice, fearful, hopeful, raised her head, doubtful of the re- 
prieve from immediate death. 

Miss Joe clasped her closer in her arms, but listened. 

Diogenes stopped in his wild walk, and began to praise all 
the saints. 

Yes, the ocean was certainly receding. They were saved ! 
But how, amidst their joy, came a knell of doom ! 

The signal gun of a ship in distress. 

No one knew how often that knell had pealed before. It 
could not have been heard, amid the deafening noise of the 
waves, no more than the report of a single cannon could have 
been distinguished in the thunder of a million others. The 
sound struck to the hearts of all present. 

^^Ohr^ said Miss Joe, ^Uhat ship! that ship! — it is the 
very ship I spied — I know it is — I know it is. And oh ! it 
may be the ship of Hugh V* 

Again the minute gun boomed over the sea. 

Oh, Heaven, how I pity them ! What can be the nature 
of their danger ? The storm has almost ceased ; if they could 
live through that terrific tempest, surely they can save them 
selves now. What can be the danger to which they are ex- 
posed now V’ asked Alice. 

The ship, tossed about so in the horrible storm, must a^ 
sprung a leak. Oh, if it should be Hughes ship replied 
Miss Joe. ' 

Again the minute gun wailed across the waters. 

“ And oh I” exclaimed Alice, wringing her hands, if there 
is one thing worse than imminent danger or death to one’s 
own, it is to be in perfect safety and to hear, near by, the <!ry 
of others in extremity, and to be unable to give them aid !” 


124 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


Once more the minute gun wailed across the waters. It 
seemed the voice of a last appeal. 

My God, I can scarcely stand this exclaimed Alice, 
shuddering, cowering, stopping her ears, while Miss Joe 
walked about groaning, groaning, groaning ! 

But once more the minute gun wailed across the waters. 
It seemed the voice of a last reproach. 

The two women, and the old negro, could do absolutely 
nothing to help the dying ship. They felt their own safety 
as a shame, and covered^ their heads to shut out the sound of 
death. They need not nave done so. 

The minute gun wailed no more across the waters. The 
voice was silenced for ever ! 

Oh, my God, my God, she is gone down ! she is gone 
down screamed Miss Joe, wrought up to an agony of terror 
and grief beyond all self-control. 

The dread silence that followed was more insufferable than 
the terrific storm, in its utmost fury, had been — than the 
awful voice of the minute gun, in its vain appeal, had been ! 
It was long after midnight now. Miss Joe, unable longer to 
bear the awful pause of fate, went and pulled open the door 
and looked out. 

The wind had lulled, the rain had ceased, the waves had 
gone down, the storm was nearly over. Yet in the deep 
darkness, she could only guess the wild ruin that had been 
wrought around. The sky hung over the waters black as a 
pall, yet by the phosphoric light of the sea that still moved 
and sparkled, she discovered a dark object, like the* hulk of a 
huge vessel, disappear under the waves. 

And hush ! what sound is that, low and distinct, in the 
deep silence of the awful night? The sound of approaching 
footsteps and voices hurrying on, and now very near. 

Light another candle, for God’s sake — some people are 
coming. God send it may be Hugh and his men ! Light 
another candle quick, and thrust it into a lantern !” exclaimed 
Miss Joe, hastening into the house. 

And before the light of the other candle blazed, the room 
was filled with sailors, storm-beaten, dripping wet, two of the 
foremost of whom bore the body of a fainting woman in their 
arms. 

It was Agnes. 

Where is Hugh — where is your captain ? My God, where 


CHILD OF THE WRECK. 125 

is Hugh exclaimed Miss J oe, as her eyes roamed over this 
wild party, in the vain quest of her nephew. 

We left the captain on the deck of his vessel. He refused 
to leave it while a man remained on board. We are going 
back for him, and half-a-dozen others,^^ said the mate, looking 
about in haste for a place to lay Agnes ; then putting her in 
the arms of old Dodgy, he turned, with three other of the 
men, and left the house for the beach. 

Too late ! too late ! I saw the ship go down myself V* 
exclaimed Miss Joe, beside herself with grief. 

What must I do with this here young ^oman, Miss Ally 
inquired Diogenes of his mistress. 

Take her up stairs, Diogenes, and I will go up and attend 
to her,” said Alice. And leaving Miss Joe and the ship- 
wrecked sailors below, Alice followed the old negro with his 
burden up stairs. 

But there a scene of ruin met her startled gaze. The roof 
had been reft from the house in the storm — the rain had 
poured through the ceiling of the loft and drenched the bed- 
chambers. One of the beds, however, being in a more pro- 
tected angle of the room, was comparatively dry. This Alice 
turned over, and upon this the old negro was directed to lay 
his insensible burden. 

While Alice was rubbing and chafing the cold, cold hands 
and feet of the shipwrecked girl, a loud cry of despair came 
up from below. 

She hastened down stairs to know the cause. 

The mate had returned from a fruitless errand. The Belle 
Agnes had gone down with all left on board, and among them 
the brave and generous Captain Hugh Hutton ! 

^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ 

Within the next three dreadful hours, in night and storm 
and darkness,” a man-child was born — son of the storm and 
the wreck — heir of a desert and a ruin ! 


8 


126 


THE DISCARDED DAUQHTER. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

THE DESOLATE HOUSE, 

Alas ! It desolately stands 
Without a roof, the gates fallen from their hand. 

The casements all broke down, no chimney left ! 

Allan Ramsay. 

IfiE sun arose next morning upon a scene of ruin that de 
li.rf description. 

The house was almost a wreck. The roof, the chimneys, 
and the shutters of the upper story were gone. The windows 
were shattered and driven in. 

The grounds also were literally laid waste. All traces of 
field, and garden, and flower-yard, were washed away. Trees 
were torn up by the roots, fences were levelled, out-buildings 
blown down, and all swept away by the flood. Cattle and 
poultry were drowned, and their bodies carried olF by the sea. 

Yes ! the isle was indeed a desert, and the house was a 
ruin, with the exception of the lower story, which, having 
been built of stronger material, and being less exposed to the 
violence of the wind, had remained entire. 

If the scene without was wretched, the scene within was 
scarcely less so. 

The shipwrecked sailors had gone down to the beach for the 
purpose of searching for the bodies of the drowned men, if, 
perchance, they might have been thrown up, and of hailing 
any boat that might pass within hail. 

Agnes and her child had been removed from the open and 
exposed upper chamber to the lower one, which was more 
comfortable. Alice, forgetful of her own fears and cares, be- 
stowed upon the unfortunate young woman the most afiection- 
ate attention. Miss Joe, broken-hearted and half crazy, yet 
■Jtill governed by her inveterate habits of order and industry, 
went about putting things to rights, groaning, wringing her 
hands, and getting breakfast. Diogenes brought wood and 
water, and stood shivering and waiting orders without the 
door. 


THE DESOLATE HOUSE. 127 

Very soon after sunrise, General Garnet, with two of his 
servants, arrived from the mainland. The wild ruin that 
reigned around, the deep distress that prevailed within the 
house, arrested all speech of blame upon his lips. He kissed 
Alice, expressing his gratitude to Heaven that she was saved. 
He condoled with Miss Joe, said that he would send over 
workmen to repair the house, offered any other assistance in 
his power, and requested to know in what manner he could 
serve her. But Miss Joe shook her head dolefully, said that 
she had always lived without alms, and that she could not re- 
ceive any now ; that she had not very long to live, but hoped 
she should not die a pauper. 

After breakfast. General Garnet took Alice home. 

For many days nothing was talked of but the storm and 
the wreck. And every day brought in news of some disaster 
that had been wrought by the tempest. 


One day, as Alice sat sewing in her room, General Garnet 
entered with a . cloud upon his brow, and the newly arrived 
Norfolk Signal in his hand. To his wife’s startled look and 
anxious question, he answered, 

A heavy misfortune has befallen our neighbour Hard- 
castle. His son, Lionel, was lost in the storm of the 28th.” 

Oh, Heaven !” 

Yes, fearful as the wind was here, it was even more ter- 
rific farther down the coast. The Falcon, homeward bound, 
was about entering Hampton Boads when overtaken by that 
horrible and disastrous tempest. The Falcon suffered fright- 
fully. Ill the midst of the storm, several of the crew and one 
of the midshipmen were washed overboard. Here is the full 
account in the leading column of the Signal. Read it. I 
must go over and see poor Hardcastle. By the way, Alice, 
this makes a very great change in the prospects of your young 
friend Magnus. Hardcastle had no other child but Lionel, 
and has no near relation but his nephew Magnus, has he 
^^No,” said Alice, looking surprised at such a question, at 
such a time.- 

Hum-m-me ! then, indeed, this ^ ill wind’ has blown a 
great inheritance to Magnus. I suppose that after his uncle 
has somewhat recovered the shock of his bereavement, he will 
recall Magnus. He will scarcely permit him to pursue the 
study of medicine, now.” 


128 THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 

I think that Magnus will prefer the study of some !)ro- 
fession. I am sure that he wishes to live an earnest and use- 
ful life/^ 

Well, I do not know a more earnest purpose, or a more 
useful life, than that lived through in the proper administra- 
tion of a large estate. By the way, Alice, I hope you have 
not, with your usual indifference in all things and to all per- 
sons, neglected to write to the poor boy during his banish- 
ment among total strangers in Baltimore V’ 

I write to him every week.^^ 

That is right ; perfectly right. I am very glad to hear it. 
Apropos, Alice, were not Magnus and Elsie very great friends ?' ^ 

They were very much attached to each other, replied 
Alice, with her innocent eyes still dilating with wonder at 
these queries. 

^ Very much attached to each other.^ Hum-m-me ! Mount 
Calm and Hemlock Hollow would form one very magnificent 
estate, ioining as they do — about ten thousand acres, would 
they not be V’ 

Yes,^^ said Alice, abstractedly. 

^^Yes, certainly, that is it. Let us see — how old is this 
youth 

About seventeen, I believe.^’ 

Yes ] and he will marry very early, if he can find a wife 
to suit him. He will settle very soon, to serious, practical 
life. He is just the young man to do it. Alice, when he re- 
turns, I hope you will not permit him quite to forget old 
friends. Stay — our Elsie is — twelve years of age 

^^Not quite.’^ ^ 

Well, nearly twelve — then thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, six- 
teen — four years. Four years will quickly pass away; and 
our young gentleman can wait that long. At the end of four 
years, I shall bring Elsie home from school. She will then 
be sixteen years of age. You were but a year older when you 
were married, Alice. Say, answer me — ^you were but seven- 
teen when you were married, were you not V’ 

I was but seventeen,^^ replied Alice, in a very low voice. 

And here the conference ended. 

General Garnet found Mr. Hardcastle in the extremity of 
grief. He had already received the dire intelligence of the 
loss of his only and well-beloved son, in a letter of condolence 
fiom the captain of the ship. He had nothing new, therefore, 
to learn from General Garnet, but thanked him for his visit 


THE DESOLATE HOUSE. 


129 


and his sympathy. General Garnet remained with him all 
day, and until a late hour of the night, when- he took his 
!eave. 

Days, weeks elapsed, before Mr. Hard castle found courage 
fco summon Magnus to Hemlock Hollow, though, in the 
mean time, Magnus had written often, expressing his heartfelt 
sorrow and his earnest sympathy, and entreating permission to 
come home, and see his uncle. At last, Mr. Hardcastle wrote, 
and recalled him. Magnus came, and remained over Christ- 
mas. Then, his uncle being restored to his usual state of 
composure and cheerfulness, and being engaged in his cus- 
tomary occupations of agriculture and politics, hunting, fish- 
ing, and company, Magnus begged leave to return to his 
studies. His uncle opposed the proposition. What was the 
use of his studying a profession now ? Could he not be con- 
tented to stay at home, and keep a childless old man’s com- 
pany ? 

But Magnus wished to be busy again. 

Well, could he not be busy enough overseeing the over- 
seer, and keeping the plantation in order ?” inquired the old 
man, testily. 

But Magnus was very much in earnest, and persisted in his 
purpose. Finally, the old man angrily threatened to disown 
him, and let him go. And Magnus, preferring his profession to 
any inheritance, departed. 

But let the reader rest assured, that the old gentleman had 
not the slightest intention of discarding the fine boy, whom h« 
loYedja^ a second son. 


130 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

VANISHING OF AGNES. 

They sought her that night and they sought her next day, 

They sought her in vain ’till a week passed away ; 

The highest, the lowest, the loneliest spot ; 

Her neighbours sought wildly, but found her not. 

Misletoe Bough. 

Do you estimate all the damage that storm did to Miss Joe ? 
Besides depriving her of her beloved nephew, and all hopes 
of assistance from him had he lived, or his property, had his 
ship been saved, the storm had desolated her house and farm, 
destroying all the labour of past years, and all the hopes of 
coming ones — leaving Miss Joe poor as a pauper, but proud 
as a princess. She was burdened, besides, with a heart-broken 
young widow and a fatherless babe. 

So, after dropping her last tears upon the grave of Hugh, 
she set herself vigorously to work, to take care of his widow 
and orphan. 

The first thing she did was to repair her house. And she 
and Pontius Pilato did the most of that. She said that the 
roofless upper story was nothing but a rain-trap, to catch and 
hold all the water, until it filtered through the ceiling into 
^ the kitchen, and so she had that pulled down level with the 
ceiling of the kitchen, and then that ceiling thatched snugly 
over, and made weather-tight at least. Thus the lodge was re 
duced to a tenement of one story, with a marvellous queer 
looking roof. She had no place to put the nice beds and 
be'dding” that came from the upper chambers; but that fell in 
very well, she said, for now that there was no one but herself 
and Aggy and the baby, they did not want more than one bed, 
and one room, and so she could sell the others and apply the 
money to the purchase of a cow, a pig, a sheep, and some 
poultry. 

As Miss Joe indignantly refused all assistance from her 
neighbours on the mainland, all they could do was to pur- 
chase her beds, bolsters, and pillows — which they did not want 
— at three times their real value, and let her have their stock 


VANISHING OF AGNES. 


131 

— whicli they did want — at one-third of its market price. In 
this manner the old lady’s poverty was served, while her prido 
was saved. 

And thus, by her good management and hopeful industry, 
Miss Joe had made herself and Agnes very comfortable by 
Christmas. 

The old soul was very fond of her baby,” and carded and 
spun some of the very finest, softest yarn, and dyed it with her 
prime scarlet dye, to knit little scarlet socks for her favourite, 
and this she called her fancy work.” 

The large kitchen had a very cosy appearance now. Their 
large bedstead and bed, always the nicest article of furniture 
in a Western Shore house, occupied the corner opposite the 
loom, and from which the now useless staircase had been re- 
moved j and then there was the child’s cradle, manufactured by 
Pontius Pilate, and furnished by Miss Joe, and there was 
Agnes, in her little nursing chair, and, lastly, there was the 
baby. All this gave the room a home-like look, and Miss J oe 
declared that the house was really more snug and comfortable 
and sociable now, and she herself much more happy, than when 
she had the bare, lonesome kitchen below, and two vacant 
windy chambers over, all to herself. She had some ^^call” to get 
up in the morning now. Besides, it was so pleasant to hear 
the baby coo, and Agnes talk to it in the night. It used to 
be so lonely and desolate when she waked in the night, to 
know, that the salt sea rolled between herself and all her fellow 
beings — except Pontius Pilate — and he was a nigger.” 

Miss Joe had her trials attending the new state of things, 
too. Agnes did nothing but tend her baby while it was awake. 
Ajid while it was asleep, she had an inveterate habit of sitting 
in a low chair with her elbows propped on her knees, and her 
chin propped on her hands, gazing vacantly at the floor. Miss 
Joe driving, thrashing, and rattling away at her loom all the 
while, would glance from Agnes to the spinning-wheel, and from 
the spinning-wheel to Agnes, and lament to see so much woman- 
power running to waste. And sometimes she would say within 
herself, 

I wonder the gal never ’fleets on it that I’m a filing and 
striving for her and her child, and never offers to lend a hand.” 

And this was not that Miss Joe grudged her own laboui, 
the least in the world. Nor could she ever find it in her heart 
to say one word to “ the poor, desolate young creetur” upon 
her favourite subjects of industry and economy. She merely 


182 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER 


sighed, and waited for time to restore the youthful widow to 
cheerfulness, hope, and activity; and she plied her spindle, 
loom, and reel with double energy to make up for the idleness 
of Agnes. 

And so days and weeks passed on, and brought Christmas, 
when an event occurred of so startling and inexplicable a nature 
as to fill the whole neighbourhood with wonder. 


It was Christmas Eve. Miss Joe’s preparations for Christ- 
mas were all made, with the exception of the turkey and the 
materials for the plum-pudding. Miss Joe’s turkeys had all 
been drowned in the great flood. Now, to have a roast turkey 
and a plum-puddiug at Christmas, was Miss Joe’s eleventh 
commandment of the Lord, and fortieth article of the Epis- 
copal faith. So she took two pair of men’s woollen socks that 
she had just completed, donned her antiquated bonnet and 
shawl, and calling Pontius Pilate to row the boat, prepared to 
start for Huttontown to exchange her work with the village 
shopkeeper for raisins, currants, and spice, and money to pur- 
chase a turkey. Snow-clouds were slowly condensing in the 
sky, but Miss J oe assured Agnes that she would be back long 
before it came on to snow. 

And then, full of cheerful energy and anticipation, she set 
out. 

Agnes remained in her usually apathetic mood, unheeding 
the flight of time, until the sudden rising of the wind, and the 
sudden hustling of hail-stones against the windows told her 
that a furious storm was coming up. She arose and closed 
the window-shutters with some difficulty, and lighted a candle, 
when she found, to her surprise, that it was already seven 
o’clock. It was high time for Miss Joe to be at home. And 
now it occurred to the kind heart of Agnes that the good old 
lady, coming in from the storm, might relish a hot cup of tea. 
So she threw more wood upon the fire (Miss Joe’s forethought 
had supplied her with a pile of wood by the chimney corner), 
and filled the tea-kettle and hung it over the blaze. But 
Agnes knew that if Miss Joe did not come almost immediately, 
if she had not already landed on the island, she would not 
come that night. Agnes set the table and made the tea. 

An hour passed by and Miss Joe had not returned, and 
Agnes gave her up for the night. 

At about midnight the storm abated, the clouds broke up, 


VANISHING OF AGNES. 


13a 


and a few stars looked shyly out as if reconnoitering the dark- 
ness. The night was very dark. Agnes, who felt lonely and 
nervous, and could not sleep, opened the window-shutters to 
look out, hut could scarcely discern the line where the dark 
waters met the snow-covered beach. The sky hung like a 
black pall over the island. The deep darkness, the deep 
silence, the deep solitude oppressed her with gloom, and fear. 
Her form was shrunk, and her eyes dilated by terror. 

Suddenly, while she gazed, the whole scene was brightly 
illuminated Several torches blazed along the beach, lighting 
up the whole line of coast, and revealing the forms of three 
boats already landed, and the figures of several men passing 
back and forth. 

At the same instant that Agnes perceived them, she felt 
that she herself must have been seen in the strong glare of 
the lighted window at which she sat. 

She started up with the wish to extinguish her candle, when 
she saw several of -he men with torches approaching the house ; 
and, overpowered ^ith terror, she fell in a swoon. 


In the mean tims, Miss Joe had very reluctantly been de- 
tained at Huttontown, by the utter impossibility of getting 
back through the snow-storm to the isle. She had passed the 
night with Mr. Fig’s — the grocer’s — family, bemoaning the ne- 
cessity, and lamenting that ^^that poor young thing would 
feel so lonesome, staying by herself on the island all night.” 

Very ‘^bright and early” the next morning, Miss Joe, with 
a fine fat hen-turkey, living, and tied by the legs, and several 
packages of raisins, currants, and spices, entered her boat and 
set out on her return home. As she landed on the beach of 
Hutton Island, she noticed the tracks of many men’s footsteps 
on the snow, and said, testily. 

Ho you see that there, Pont? Now you see that long- 
legged Useless Roeback and some o’ Judge Jacky’s niggers 
have been here a’ready this morning arter snow-birds. And 
I wouldn’t wonder if he wa’n’t up yonder at the house now a 
bothering of Agnes. Heed, if he is, I’ll send him flying off 
this here island. See if I don’t !” And Miss Joe trudged 
wrathfully on up the hill. 

As she drew near the house, the sound of the child scream- 
ing shrilly struck her ear. Ah ! do you hear that, now ? 
Tliafs because I was away. I knew how that poor young 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


134 

creetur wouldn’t know how to tend her own baby/’ said Mis8 
Joe, more complacently, and hurrying on faster. 

When she reached the lodge, the scene of confusion that 
met her eyes nearly transfixed her. Both doors, front and 
back, were wide open, and the air was rushing' through the 
room. The fire had gone out ; the great logs of wood had 
burnt in two and fallen apart, and the charred and blackened 
ends were sticking up. The candle had expired in melted 
grease, which was now spread, cold, all over the candlestick, 
and down upon the nice white oak table. The bed had not 
been slept in, for there it was perfectly smooth as Miss Joe 
had left it, with her own peculiar folds and twists about it. 
And there lay the baby in the cradle, screaming its little life 
away. 

“ In the name o’ Grod A’ mighty, Pont, what has been a 
happening?” asked Miss Joe, lifting up the child, and sinking 
with it into a chair, pale as death. 

Pontius Pilate stood there with the screeching and strug- 
gling turkey in one hand, and the bundle of groceries in the 
other — looking like a statue of Dismay carved in ebony. 

In the name of Heaven, Pont, what has been a’ takin’ 
place ?” repeated Miss J oe. 

^^Gor A’mighty knows, mist’ess; but I does werily b’lieve 
how de Britishers is been a landen’ ag’in, or else Bonnypart. 
Chris’ de Lor’ be praised, ole mist’, dat I an’ you wa’n’t home 
when dey come. See, now, how ebery ting turn out for de 
bes’. S’pose that snow storm hadn’t a come up, where you 
an’ I been ! Good Lor’ ! poor Miss Aggy ! Wonder what’s 
come o’ her ?” 

Yes, what, my Lord ! Pont,” said Miss Joe, who never 
in any emergency was known to neglect the plain practical 
duty of the moment, go and get the tinder-box, and light a 
fire quickly, and heat some milk and water for this child. 
He is almost frozen and almost starved.” 

And Pontius Pilate put down his burdens and did as he was 
bid. And Miss Joe made the infant perfectly comfortable, 
and put him to sleep, before she joined Pont in his vain search 
ground the island for Agnes, or some clue to her fate. 

When she ascertained that Agnes was certainly not on the 
island, she despatched Pontius Pilate to the mainland to rouse 
up the people of Huttontown to prosecute the search 

And the people were roused indeed to a state of nine days’ 
wonder i 


THE ELFIN GIRL. 


136 

What could have become of her ? How could she have 
ieft her sea-girt isle without a boat? Would she have for- 
Baken her child at all ? 

No ; Miss Joe was certain she would not; she was too fond 
of him. 

Had she possibly drowned herself? 

No; Miss Joe was sure not; she was too much afraid of 
dying and leaving her babe. 

Had she been carried off, then ? and by whom ? 

Yes. It was finally concluded that she must have been 
carried off ; but, by whom ? That was still the problem un- 
solved. Inquiries were made up and down the coast, and in 
every direction. Advertisements were inserted in the papers, 
and large rewards offered for her discovery, by G-eneral Gar- 
net, Judge Wylie, and other benevolent neighbours. For to 
this sort of assistance Miss Joe made no objection. She con- 
sidered the recovery of Agnes quite an affair of general in- 
terest, as indeed it was. Nothing, however, was heard of 
her. 

As months passed, the mystery deepened, and people grew 
weary of conjecture. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE ELFIN GIRL. 

But who is this ? What thing of sea or land ? 

Female of sex it seems. — Samson Agonistes. 

For a time. Miss Joe had grieved immoderately over the 
untimely and mysterious fate of her niece, and the loneliness 
of her own lot, and the prospect of a poor and solitary old age 
before her ; but soon, in the native kindness and disinterested- 
ness of her heart, she turned to the child thus thrown upon 
her exclusive protection, and only hoped that she might be 
spared long enough to raise him, and see him able to take his 
own part ; for, after all, small, and helpless, and abandoned as 
he was, he was the last Hutton of the Isles, and the heir of — 
the little sand bank in the bay, yclept 8t. Clara’s Isle or Hit- 
ton’s Isle. 


136 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


Very strange was the lot and life of the lonely recluse of the 
sea-girt isle, and her little protege. Their only possessions 
were — the nearly barren islet, the dilapidated lodge, a cow, a 
sheep or two, a little poultry, and a dog. No cart or horse had 
they, nor even any use for either. The small skiff conveyed 
them to the mainland whenever, for the purpose of laying in a 
few groceries or dry goods, or of attending divine service, they 
found it necessary or agreeable to go. Their faithful old ser- 
vant, Pontius Pilate, whose duty it still was to till the land, 
row the boat, fish the weir, rake the oyster-bed, and cut and 
bring wood from the mainland, was their only companion. The 
soil immediately around the house being mixed with clay and 
marl, still yielded, with careful cultivation, corn and wheat 
enough for the small consumption of the little family. And 
Pontius Pilate saved money by grinding this in a hand-mill. 
The little garden produced vegetables enough for their table. 
And the two sheep yielded wool enough for their winter socks 
and mits — carded, spun, and woven, by the indefatigable lingers 
of Miss Joe. And so time passed on, until Miss Joe, not hav- 
ing trouble enough on her hands already, was induced to assume 
the responsibility of rearing another child, a little wild elf-like 
girl, whose advent was almost as great a subject of gossiping 
speculation, as the disappearance of Agnes had been. And 
the name of this elfin child was G-arnet Seabright. 

The history of Garnet Seabright, as it was understood in the 
neighbourhood, was very briefly this : — 

When Hugh was about six years of age. Miss Joe received 
a letter from a distant relation, living in Calvert county, be- 
seeching her, for the Redeemer’s sake, to lose no time in 
hastening to the sick-bed of the writer, who was most anxious 
to see her before^ she died. 

Miss Joe had to rub her organ of eventuality, before she 
could recognise in the writer a cousin, a wild young girl of 
exceeding beauty and wilfulness, who had, years before, eloped 
with a soldier, a certain George Seabright, a distant relation of 
Captain Seabright. 

Miss Joe never slighted any appeal to her benevolence. She 
shut up house, left the island in care of Pontius Pilate, took 
Hugh to Huttontown, and left him in charge of Mrs. Fig, 
the grocer’s wife, borrowed a mule, and set out for Calvert 
f50unty. 

The house of her cousin she heard upon inquiry was a 
miserably poor cottage, with scarcely any cleared ground 


THE ELFIN GIRL. 


137 


around it, and situated in the midst of a deep, dark forest. It 
was approached for miles only by a narrow bridle-path. It 
was near nightfall when Miss Joe entered this lonesome path; 
it was quite dark before she got near the house. 

‘‘ Oh, good Lord ! this is a great deal more lonesomer and 
more wilder than my sea-girt island they make such a fuss 
about ; for there, at least, I could see an enemy a long ways 
off. But here ! Lord ! there might be an Injin, or a bandit, 
or more likely still, a runaway nigger behind every tree. Gret 
up. Jinny ! Hark ! Lord deliver us ! what was that 

^^Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! Highe.I cheep I th-sh-sh-e-e- 
e-e laughed, screamed, chirped, chirruped a sharp, shrill 
voice, high up in the trees, or somewhere between them and 
the blinking stars. 

^‘Lord save us, what was that?’^ ejaculated Miss Joe, look- 
ing up at the branches overhead, in the direction of the eerie 
voice. 

And there she saw, in the dark, bright starlight, in the 
highest branches of the trees, among the green and glistening 
leaves, a little elfin face, with glittering eyes, and gleaming 
teeth, and streaming hair, mopping and mowing at her — chat- 
tering, gibing, laughing, and screaming at her. 

St. John and all the Holy Evangelists I St. Mary and 
all the Holy Virgins I— what^s that? It’s — it’s — a fairy! — 
it’s — it’s — a brownie !” exclaimed Miss Joe, bursting out into 
a profuse perspiration. 

Miss J oe was neither cowardly nor superstitious, yet when 
the little elf, with its wild eyes and streaming hair, glided 
down the tree with the swiftness and celerity of a monkey 
down a mainmast, and leaped, with a yell of malice and de- 
light, upon the mule, behind her. Miss Joe opened her throat 
with a prolonged shriek, that might have waked the dead. 

And at the same time the mule dashed, plunging and kick- 
ing, forward. 

The elf stuck its little hands into Miss Joe’s fat sides, and, 
as the good lady herself afterwards said, clung there like a 
claw-fish or a crab. The mule plunged madly on. 

Miss Joe, delirious with terrors real and imaginary, lost all 
power of controlling the animal, dropped the reins, and must 
have fallen off, had not the bit been seized by a strong hand, 
and the mule forced back upon her haunches. 

That’s Grodfather !” cried the elf, in human words and 


138 THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 

tones, and Miss J oe, looking up, recognised, in her deliverer; 
G-eneral Garnet. 

The sprite leaped from the saddle to the bosom of General 
Garnet, and clung there in her crab-like fashion, her little 
head rubbed, rooted under his chin, her little arms around his 
neck, and her little figure almost veiled by her long hair, 
screaming with her inarticulate tones of affection and delight. 

Miss Joe dismounted from the now stationary mule, and 
began in an eager voice to pour forth her surprise, gratitude, 
and wonder. 

General Garnet, with a look of vexation, tinged with 
amusement, tried to shake off his little encumbrance. But it 
was like trying to get rid of a chestnut-burr ; for if he suc- 
ceeded in pulling her off from one place, she would stick at 
another, screaming with wild delight and elfish perversity, 
clinging to him, rooting her little head into him. 

^‘Gome, Netty. Come, come; this will not do; release 
me. Goodness, child, are your hands and feet furnished with 
clawfl exclaimed General Garnet, trying to tear of the little 
human bramble. 

^‘Chip! Chip! Chee-ee-ee! H-sh-sh-sh 1 Whip 1’^ 

It is impossible to convey, in words, the saucy, defiant, 
chirping, inarticulate cry of the sprite, as it rammed its head 
again into the bosom of its victim. Presently the elf sprang 
away of itself, and perched upon the back of the mule. 

How is your mother, Netty then asked General Garnet. 

Waiting for you and the old woman, too. She sent me 
after you.’^ 

And now Miss Joe and the General looked at each other in 
astonishment, as if mutually inquiring, “You, too?^^ 

General Garnet, putting his hand upon the shoulder of the 
elf, and giving her a slight shake, put her upon the ground, 
took her hand, and walked up the dark forest path, drawing 
her after him. 

Miss Joe took the bridle, and leading her mule, followed. 

A little way up the path, was a horse standing perfectly 
still, saddled and bridled, and with a portmanteau on the 
crupper. 

General Garnet remounted this horse, and taking the wood 
sprite before him, rode on up the path. f 

Miss J oe, not wishing to be left behind, tumbled up into her 
old saddle, and urged old Jenny to her best speed. They soon 
}ame to a little clearing in the forest, and paused before the 


THE ELFIN GIRL. 139 

humble door of a log house. The elf sprang down from her 
Beat, and darting into ,the door, cried, 

TheyVe come, Minny ! Grodfather and the old body 
fcoth.^^ 

Poke up the fire, and let them both come in, Netty V* 
was the answer; and presently the sprite pulled open the 
door with a bang, and stood there with her glittering eyes and 
streaming hair and naked legs, to admit them. 

They entered and found the room occupied by two persons : a 
young woman, who sat propped up in an arm-chair, by the fire ; 
and an old negress, who seemed to be her servant or nurse. 
The young woman bore a singular resemblance to the elf-like 
child ; but her dark eyes were burning, and her face was bathed 
with the fatal fires of consumption. She held out an emaciated 
hand to welcome her visitors, while the old negress set rude 
stools for their accommodation. The young invalid pressing 
the hand of Miss Joe, thanked her many times for her kindnsoss 
in taking this journey, and begged her to sit down quite close 
fco her, for that she could not raise her voice much. Miss Joe 
drew the stool to the side of the invalid, and begged to be in- 
formed how she could serve her ; expressing at the same time 
her perfect willingness to do so. Then the young woman in a 
feeble voice, interrupted by frequent fits of coughing, said that 
she felt she had but little time to live — that her days, nay, 
her very hours were numbered — that after her death she 
wished Miss J oe to take charge of her orphan child ; that Ge- 
neral Garnet, who considered himself under great obligations 
to her late husband, would be at the costs of its rearing and 
education, and would besides, liberally repay Miss Joe for the 
trouble she might be put to in taking care of it. 

General Garnet was there to endorse her promises. He ap^ 
preached them ; and taking the feverish hand of the invalid, 
and turning to Miss 'Joe, said. 

The husband of this young woman was a soldier under my 
command ; he fought under me during the whole course of the 
war. Once he saved me from death. Once he saved me from 
dishonour. He received his death-wound — for years after it 
caused his death — in the same battle in which I won my pre- 
sent military rank. I am under eternal obligations to him ; 
and while I have an acre of ground, or a dollar at my banker’s, 
I will never see his child want !” 

These words' were said to Miss Joe, but for the dying 
woman, for General Garnet spoke with more real feeling than 


140 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


we have ever seen him betray, and pressed the thin hand fer- 
vently the while. 

She is a wild, untamed, untameahle child, I fear. Miss J»oe. 
A wilful little sprite, but generous and confiding, and very 
loving, if you can win her wild, shy love,^^ said the sufferer, 
looking fondly after her child. “ She is too much like her 
mother was. Miss Joe; but teach her to pray, send her to 
school and to church. No one taught me to pray ; no one sent 
me to school or to church ; more’s the pity.” Here a fit of 
coughing interrupted the speaker. She recovered from it and 
resumed : But I learned to read. Miss Joe, and I have 

taught her all I knew. Young and wild as she is, she can 
read very well. But above all things, send her to church. 
Miss Joe. Let her learn of God.” 

And here the sufferer sank back perfectly exhausted. Ge- 
neral Garnet went out to look after his horse ; and Miss Joe 
insisted that the invalid retire to bed. When this was ac- 
complished, and the sick woman had fallen asleep, the old 
negress took Miss Joe aside, and whispered, 

‘^Doctor say she may die any hour, any minit. An’ min’, 
whenever she do go she’ll die sittin’ up, or walkin’ about. 
Can’t get her to lie down, hardly to save her life. Honey, she 
kept walkin’ out to de very las’. No longer an’ las’ week she 
walk clear over to Barntown to put dat letter in de office. It’s 
perfectly ’mazin’ how she do keep up. It’s nothin’ but her 
speerits, though. You see her body’s all gone; burnt out an’ 
burnt up wid de fever; but her speerits keeps her up. An’ 
min’, I tell you, when she go off she’ll go stan’in’ up or walk- 
in’ about. Dat dere chile o’ hern jes’ like her ; all speerits. 
J es wish you see it go up a tree like a squrrel. ’Deed, I think 
it’s got some wild blood into it.” 

I<ook here ! hush ! tell me how I am to get supper for 
General Garnet ; and where is he to sleep, and where I am to 
sleep ?” said Miss Joe, impatiently, for she was no lover of 
idle gossipping. 

‘^Lor’, chile. I’ll get de wittels ready time you bat your 
eyes ! Den dere a lof ’ up stairs where you can sleep, an’ as 
for de Ginnel, he always go over to Barntown to sleep when 
he come down here.” 

General Garnet now re-entered the house to hi I good even- 
ing before going away. Finding that the patient had retired 
to bed, and was asleep, he walked to the bedside, stooped over 
her, a cloud of pity and regret overswept his face, and hv 


HE ELFIN GIRL 


141 


turned away, and without even noticing the other inmates, 
left the house, threw himself ‘on his horse, and rode away. 

The invalid died the next morning, immediately after being 
placed in her chair, where she had insisted upon sitting. 

General Garnet arrived within an hour after, and took the 
direction of the humble funeral. 

Within four days from this. Miss Joe found herself at home 
with her grandnephew, little Hugh, her ward. Garnet Sea- 
bright, the old negress, who had fallen to little Garnet’s pos- 
session, along with the personal effects of her mother, and, 
lastly, with old Pontius Pilate, who had complained of great 
loneliness during his mistress’s absence. 

Little Hugh Hutton was a proud and happy little man the 
day of Netty’s arrival. He tried to multiply himself into a 
train of attendants to wait upon the little girl. He first pro- 
posed to give up his cot bed, his chair, and his little chest for 
her use. He brought her all his playthings, his bows and 
arrows, and guns, and traps, and hammered all day at what 
he fondly supposed to be a boat, that he was making for her 
benefit. 

When General Garnet had taken leave of Miss J oe at Hut- 
tontown, just as she was about to cross over to her island, he 
had begged her to apply to, him in any emergency, and to call 
on him for anything her young charge might want. The child 
of the soldier who had served under him throughout the 
Revolutionary war, who had once interposed his body to save 
his life, should never suffer for the necessaries or comforts of 
existence while that life was spared. And this he had said 
with that earnest and fervent tone, and with that benign and 
beautiful smile, that never failed to fascinate the love and 
trust of all who heard and saw him. And Miss Joe felt as- 
sured and comfortable. 

But now, as days slid into weeks, and weeks grew into 
months. Miss Joe heard no more of General Garnet and his 
promises, nor did she like to take him at his word and apply 
to him. He ought to prevent that and save her feelings, she 
said. 

As years passed away, however, Miss J oe occasionally wrote 
to General Garnet in behalf of her little protege. For the most 
part, her letters would remain unanswered, but when one did 
elicit a reply. General Garnet’s epistle would be full of kind- 
ness, blessing, encouragement, good advice, and — nothing else ! 

At last, during a bitter winter, their main dependence, their 
9 


142 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


faitliful servant, poor old Pontius Pilate, caught the pleurisy 
and died. In the midst of this trouble. Miss Joe wrote again 
to General Garnet, and once more, and for the last time, in- 
voked his promised assistance. After the lapse of several 
days, she received a letter from the benignant General, full of 
condolence, sympathy, and exhortations to hope and patience, 
and — nothing else ! The letter concluded with the assurance 
that she had nothing to fear — that God never made a mouth 
for which he had not also provided food. To this letter the 
long-suffering old lady was exasperated to reply — that though 
it was true God had made both the mouths and the food, yet 
the mouths had fallen to her lot, and the food to his. 

The General never replied to this last letter, and here the 
correspondence ceased. 

Cast thy bread upon the waters, and after many days it 
will be found,’^ saith Holy Writ. The bread Miss Joe had 
cast upon the waters will be found in due time. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


ELSIE. 


Oh ! the words 
Laugh on her lips ; the motion of her smiles 
Showers beauty, as the air-caressed spray 
The dews of morning. — Milman. 

But ever still, 

As a sweet tone delighteth her, the smile 
Goes melting into sadness, and the lash 
Droops gently to her eye, as if she knew 
Affection was too deep a thing for mirth. — Willis. 

General Garnet was certainly not a parsimonious man; 
perhaps his interest in his little god-child had died with her 
mother; perchance, being a very wealthy man, he could not 
appreciate the strait to which poor Miss Joe and her little 
family were reduced ; possibly he did not wish to give his 
personal attention to little Garnetts necessities ; probably, he 
intended that Miss Joe should get what was needed at the vil- 
lage store, upon his account ; certainly, if Miss Joe had liberally 


ELSIE. 


interpreted his letters, and done so, he would, without demur, 
have settled the bill. But Miss Joe was far too cautious to 
put a doubtful construction on his letters, and run in debt. ] 
never clearly comprehended the difficulty between them, but 1 
believe they each misunderstood the other, and so General 
Garnet remained with the stigma of cruelty and ingratitude 
resting upon him, when, perhaps, he could be justly accused 
of indifference only. 

Just about the time of Miss Joe’s last application also, 
General Garnet, like Martha, was troubled with many things. 
He was a candidate for the Senate, and all his thoughts en- 
gaged in the secret, intriguing, vexatious, multifarious business 
of electioneering ; or if he had a thought or a moment to spare, 
it was divided between the negotiation with his neighbour, Mr. 
Hardcastle, of a marriage between Magnus Hardcastle and 
Elsie Garnet, or in preparations for the return of his daughter 
— having his house re-papered, re-painted, and newly fur- 
nished. 

Magnus Hardcastle had obtained his diploma, and was get- 
ting into some little practice, despite the grumbling, growling, 
and swearing objections of his uncle, who could see no neces- 
sity for his nephew “ making a slave of himself for nothing.” 

Yes, absolutely for nothing ! T<et Magnus show a dollar 
that he had ever earned by all his practising of medicine. 
Let him show even a dollar that he had ever got hack for the 
medicines he had dispensed along with his attention and 
advice ! 

It was true, Magnus’s receipt-book, if he owned one, was an 
unwritten volume. His practice was mostly among poor peo- 
ple, who had no dollars to spare. 

Well, then, what did he do it for? What good did it do 
Mm ? There he was, rapped up out of his warm bed in the 
middle of the winter’s night, in the midst of a snow-storm, to 
ride five or six miles to some old woman in a cramp colic, or 
some child with the croup ! What good did it do ? And this 
was not the case once or twice, but five or six times in a month. 
And what good did it do him ? 

Lives were saved ! 

Yes, but what did he get for his trouble? Thanks, may- 
be. Pooh ! he knew very well that half the time he got 
nothing but ingratitude and coarse abuse. He had better re- 
member that Irish woman, with an inflam inatoiy fever, who took 
her powders every hour in a gill of whiskey, and being neai 


144 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


death, swore the d doctor’s stuff had murdered her. He had 

better remember how the other woman cursed him for cutting 
off her husband’s mortified leg to the saving of his life. Pooh ! 
Let him give up the dirty profession. He did not adopt him, 
did not intend to give him a fortune for the sole purpose of 
enabling him to be a poor doctor without even parish payd 

Sometimes Magnus would answer to this effect — 

Nonsense, my good uncle ! If I can do any good in my 
day and generation, let me do it. Though I do sometimes 
get abuse from some poor, ignorant man, or, more frequently, 
a blowing up from some poor, nervous, overtasked woman, 
who, by-the-way, would defend me, to the death, the very 
next hour, if any one else attacked me — why should I care ? 
I am quite as well liked as I deserve to be. Most people are, 
in fact. Some day the people about here will send me to 
Congress, in my own despite, I am so popular.” 

“ Send you to Congress ! I expected that — I was only wait- 
ing for that. It only wanted that to complete my despair and 
your ruin.” 

Dear uncle, be easy — I shan’t go,” Magnus would reply, 
laughing. 

Yes, Doctor Magnus Hardcastle was very, ver^ popular, and 
could have carried as many votes as any man in the county. 
He was the constant companion of General Garnet, by what 
sort of attraction and association, the reader cannot fail to 
know. Never was such a zealous partisan as Magnus! Never 
was such a stump orator — earnest, eloquent, impassioned, 
large-souled, great-hearted, full of human sympathies — he 
could sway a crowd to and fro in a manner that might have 
been amusing, if it had not been sublime in its exhibition of 
power. It was his personal appearance, as well as his tem- 
perament, that was the cause of much of this power over 
others. 

But it is time to give you some idea of Magnus Hardcastle 
at twenty-three. He was a fine illustration of ^he beauty of 
the vital system. He had the tall, athletic form that distin- 
tinguishes the men of the Western Shore; a face rather square, 
by reason of the massive forehead and massive jaws, both in- 
dicating intellect and strength ; but it was in the fullness of 
the beautifully-rounded chin and cheeks, in the fullness of the 
large, but beautifully-curved lips, that the fine, genial serenity 
and joyous temperament, were revealed; the line of the nos« 
and for^ head was nearly straight, and the eyes were clear blm» ; 


ELSIE. 


145 


the complexion was clear and ruddy; and the face was sur- 
rounded by the darkest chestnut hair, and whiskers that met 
beneath the chin. The prevailing expression of this fine coun- 
tenance was confidence and cheerfulness. 

Magnus had been corresponding with Elsie for the last three 
years, and looked forward to her return with more of joyful 
anticipation than any one else in the world, perhaps, except 
her mother. A year before this, two miniature portraits of 
Elsie, in her young womanhood, had been forwarded from 
England. One of them had been retained by her mother; 
the other was presented by G-eneral Garnet to Magnus. He 
wore it in his vest pocket. It was her charm, his talis- 

man, his Agnus-dei. Whenever, if ever he would become, for 
the instant, lazy, stupid, hopeless, or impatient, he would take 
that miniature out, touch the spring, so that the case would 
fly open, and gaze upon that handsome, wholesome, happy face, 
until energy, inspiration, hope, and patience came again ; and 
he would close it, and replace it in his pocket with a joyous 
faith in his coming life, that not all the powers of evil could 
have shaken. 

I told you that Magnus was the zealous, active, and most 
efficient partisan of General Garnet; he was also the dear 
friend and confidant of Mrs. Garnet. Many and long were 
the confidential talks they would have in Aliceas dressing-room; 
and the subject of these conversations was Elsie — still Elsie. 

One day, after reading with Mrs. Garnet Elsie^s last delight- 
ful letter, and discussing with her Elsie’s expected arrival, he 
exclaimed, joyfully, This makes me gladdest of all ! — that our 
fresh, dewy, charming Elsie will come at once to us. Well ! — at 
once to me — that she will not have had, as most young ladies 
have, many other lovers ; that the sun of the world will not 
have stolen the bloom and the dew from our beautiful Mary- 
land rose.” 

But Magnus reckoned” his future without Destiny, his 
^^host.” 

Elsie had been -withdrawn from school, indeed, and was 
quite ready and anxious to get home. She was to return with 

General A ’s family, who were soon expected to sail for the 

United States. But one circumstance following another, and 
connected with his diplomatic business, had deferred his de- 
parture from time to time, until six months passed away — 
during which Miss Garnet had been presented at Gourt, and 
was moving in the best society in London. Yes; and, though 


146 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


still impatient to come home, enjoying her happy self to the 
utmost, as every letter testified. 

Now, you would think that after having congratulated him- 
self so upon the unsunned freshness of his beautiful Maryland 
rose, that Magnus would lament that she was blooming in the 
very blaze of the sun of fashion, in the very conservatory of a 
court. 

By no means ; her letters reassured him, every one. 

It is well, very well, upon the whole,^^ he said. She 
has now an opportunity of forming an acquaintance with one 
order of society, that may never occur again — of getting an 
insight into one phase of human nature, that nothing but this 
experience could afford her.’^ 

And time sped on, and brought the day when a letter came 
to them, dated at Liverpool, and announcing that General 

A , with his family, and Miss Garnet, would sail, within 

a few days, in the ship Amphytrite, bound from that port to 
Norfolk. Therefore, it was expected that within a few days 
after, if not before the arrival of the letter, the Amphytrite 
would be in port. 

General Garnet, accompanied by Dr. Hardcastle, left Mount 
Calm immediately for Norfolk, to welcome his daughter, if the 
ship had come ; to wait for her, if it had not. 

Mrs. Garnet remained at home to receive her, in fond, im- 
patient expectation. 

She had Elsie’s bed-chamber decorated, and a fire made in 
it every day, and the parlours lighted and warmed, and the 
tea-table set for the whole party every evening. 

At last, one night — a week after they had left home — while 
she was standing before the parlour fire, trimming a lamp on 
the chimney-piece, and wondering sadly if she were not merely 
imagining that her long-lost daughter was expected home, a 
carriage drove rapidly up the shaded avenue, steps were let 
down, people came, a little bustle ensued, hasty steps and joy- 
ous voices were heard. Alice ran out, and in an instant, the 
mother, weeping, laughing, exclaiming, had caught, and was 
hugging her daughter to her bosom. Yes, Elsie herself ! — 
Elsie, warm, alive, real, and such an armful of bright, rosy, 
joyous life, and love, and reality ! I leave you to imagine 
the joy of the party around the tea-table that night, where all 
were too joyful to eat — or the late hour at which they sepa- 
rated for the night and retired to their several rooms, where 
each one was too happy to sleep. 


ELSIE. 


147 

The next morning, happy, joyous Elsie had to hold a sort 
ot levee for the benefit of the coloured folks. Every negro 
in the house, or on the plantation, who had known her before 
she went away, had to come and shake hands with her, and 
welcome her back. And every little one that had grown from 
infancy to childhood during her absence, and to whom she was 
a sort of fabulous demi-goddess, or, it might be, one of the 
angels, had to come and stare at her, and be patted on the 
head, and get its paper of sugar-plums or its toy. 

And then, later in the day, when her trunks and boxes ar- 
rived in the wagon, and were unpacked, she had to distribute' 
her presents and tokens of remembrance to all and each of the 
coloured people. 

And in the course of the second day, when the news of her 
arrival began to be rumoured about, the companions of her 
childhood, now grown up to be young men and women, flocked 
in to see her. And it was from their sly hints and innuendoes 
that Elsie was taught that it was expected of her father to give a 
bail, and that, indeed, a great many people would be very greatly 
disappointed if he did not. And good-natured Elsie, in order 
to make so many young folks happy, named the matter to her 
father, and begged him, as a personal favour to herself, in 
consideration of her recent arrival home, to give a party. So 
General Garnet, willing to please his child, and believing, be- 
sides, that a large party might forward his electioneering pro- 
jects, gave his consent. He consulted Mrs. Garnet and Doctor 
Hardcastle, and fixed the time of the ball for that day two 
weeks. Magnus was with her every day. Elsie perfectly under- 
stood, though she could scarcely have told why, for no one had 
as yet hinted the subject to her, that she was at no very dis- 
tant period of time to be married to Magnus. She considered 
her marriage, like her leaving school, her presentation at court, 
and her coming-out ball, a part of the programme of her happy 
drama of life, and was content. She loved Magnus. During 
her absence in England, she had remembered and loved him 
as she had remembered and loved her father and mother — as 
one of the elements of her life’s joy. 

When she returned, she had met him with the fond and 
free afiection of a sister for an only brother. 

And when she had been home a week, and Magnus had 
found opportunity and courage, and led the beautiful and 
happy girl to a shady nook in the twilight parlour, and told 
her with the burning eloquence of passion how long, how 


148 


THE DISCAKDED DAUGHTER. 


deeply, how greatly he had loved her — how she had been at 
once his one memory and his one hope — his incentive, his 
dream, his inspiration, his guiding star, Elsie heard him with 
undisguised astonishment at his earnestness and his enthusi- 
asm, and wondered to herself where it all came from. And 
when he, full of doubt and fear, for her free and unembar- 
rassed manner discouraged him, begged her to give him an 
answer, she replied, without the slightest hesitation or embar- 
rassment — nay, even in her native, gladsome, confident manner 
— that he need not have given himself so much anxiety ; that, 
of course, everybody knew they were going to be married; 
didn^t their lands join ? and, of course, she had never even 
thought of retreating. 

Now you may think from that speech that Elsie was a 
sadly heartless and mercenary and calculating little baggage. 
She was as far as possible from being that. She was a fresh, 
innocent, totally inexperienced girl, who repeated, parrot-like, 
the sentiments of those around her. 

Magnus knew that, and caught her, strained her to his 
bosom, pressed kisses on her brow, her cheeks, her lips, in 
the delirious joy of first and passionate love.^^ And Elsie 
broke from his arms and ran from the room suffused with 
blushes, trembling with a strange, painful, blissful tumult. 
And all that evening Elsie wandered about up stairs, or sat 
dreaming, half in terror, half in joy, until her mother came 
in and asked her of what she was thinking so deeply ? 

Elsie started and blushed violently. 

Alice took both her hands and gazed deeply into her face. 

At that earnest and tender mother’s gaze, the tears sprung 
into Elsie’s eyes, and then, as struck by something ludicrous 
in herself or her position, Elsie laughed. 

Alice pressed her hands, and released them, saying. 

It is time to dress, my dear Elsie, your father expects 
you in the parlour. Let me fix your hair ; it is in sad dis- 
order.” And she smoothed and twined the rich ringlets 
around her fingers, letting them drop in long tendrils of golden 
auburn. 

And then she arranged her dress of purple cashmere, and 
they went below to the lighted parlour where General Garnet 
and Magnus awaited them. The General and Magnus were 
engaged in a political discussion, but Magnus broke off and 
jame at once to meet them. 

Elsie, with a bright blush, turned ..away and walked to a 


ELSIE. 149 

distant table, where she ensconced herself with her tanihour 
frame. 

But from that day Elsie gradually changed. She kept out 
of the way of Magnus most sedulously. The courtship be- 
came a regular hunt. All Magnuses ingenuity was employed 
in devising how he should circumvent Elsie^s arch and saucy 
prudery, and entrap her into a little lover’s talk or walk. 
And all Elsie’s tact was engaged in devising means to avoid 
without offending Magnus. 

And so days went on until one day it fell like ice upon the 
warm heart of Magnus, that Elsie might not love him except 
as a brother ; and oh ! he thought of her first, free, fond, sis- 
terly affection for him, until the evening upon which he first 
declared his passion, and then of her calm agreement to marry 
him because their lands joined, and her cold avoidance of him 
ever since. ‘‘ Yes,” he said to himself, “ it is too true. Elsie 
does not love me. I am wooing an unwilling bride. Shall I 
continue to do so ? Shull I marryher and seal her misery ? 
No, my Grod i No, though she is the first and last hope of my 
life, I will resign her if that will make her happy.” And so 
Magnus suddenly abandoned the pursuit of Elsie, and grew 
thoughtful, sorrowful, pale and weary-looking. 

Then he absented himself from Mount Calm for several 
days. Elsie did not grow pale or thin ; she was too sanguine 
for that ; but she became uneasy, then anxious, then restless, 
and would walk about looking silently from the windows, 
particularly the back windows that overlooked the forest road 
leading down to the Hollow ; or looking into her father’s or 
her mother’s face with an anxious, appealing look of silent 
inquiry. She would not have put that inquiry into words for 
a kingdom. If the door-bell were rung, she would start vio- 
lently, pause breathlessly, turn very pale, ask eagerly of the 
servant who returned, who was that?” he answered Judge 
Jacky Wylie,” or ‘^Marse Useless Roebuck;” and then sink 
back in her seat, disappointed and blushing with mortification. 
And yet only two or three days had passed ; but then Magnus 
had been in t^ habit of coming twice a day, and staying over 
night; and two or three days seems to a young, impatient 
heart, like two or three eternities. 

At last General Garnet, in the blackest rage and the bright- 
est smile, put a pair of pistols in his pocket, mounted his 
magnificent black war-horse Death, and rode down to Hem- 
Lnck Hollow, with the deliberate intention of courteously 


150 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


inquiring into Dr. Hardcastle’s motives of conduct, and blow- 
ing his brains out if the answer should not prove satisfactory. 
Not that he sympathized with Elsie, or believed in broken 
hearts, but that he had a saving faith in the junction of 
estates, and a high respect for the ‘^honour of his house.'^ 

He found Magnus looking sallow and haggard, and imme- 
diately surmised that he had been ill, reproached him in a 
polite, gentlemanly way, for not having informed his friends 
of his indisposition, and finally hoped that he had recovered. 

Magnus pleaded guilty to illness, and much care and anx- 
iety, and spoke of the pain that enforced absence from Elsie 
gave him. Not for the world would Magnus have hinted that 
Elsie’s coldness had driven him away, and that despair had 
made him ill ; he knew too well that such a communication 
would be visited with great severity by her father upon the 
head of Elsie. And he judged rightly — G-eneral Garnet’s 
heart was set on the marriage of those two joining plantations. 
If Magnus had backed out, he would hawe shot him like a 
dog. If Elsie had retreated, he would have turned her out 
of doors. If both had broken off, by mutual consent, he 
would have — Satan o.nly knows what he would not have done. 

As it was now, he was perfectly satisfied with Magnus, in- 
sisted that he should come over the day of the ball, if not 
before, received his promise to do so, and took leave. 


CHAPTER XX. 

THE BALL THE UNEXPECTED GUEST. 

There was a sound of revelry by night. 

and bright 

The lamps shone o’er fair women and brave men ; 

A thousand hearts beat happily, and when 
Music arose with its voluptuous swell, 

Soft eyes looked love to eyes that spoke again, 

And all went marry as a marriage bell! 

But hush I hark!- Byron. 

Che day of the ball arrived. People had been invited for 
twenty miles around. Apartments had been prepared for the 


THE UNEXPECTED GUEST. 


151 


guests who, coming from a distance, would be likely U- remain 
all night. From an early hour in the afternoon, carriages be- 
gan to arrive, and the men-servaiits had enough to do in 
stabling the horses and putting away the vehicles; whilesthc 
maid-servants were employed in showing the company to their 
dressing-rooms, and attending upon them there. 

Magnus came early in the afternoon, in order to have a 
private conversation with Mrs. Garnet, to whom he intended 
to open his heart fully. 

He asked for her as soon as he arrived, and was immediately 
shown up into her bed-chamber, into which both Alice and 
her daughter had been crowded, by the incoming of their 
guests. As he entered, Alice came forward with a smile to 
meet him. Elsie started violently, coloured brightly, and ere 
any one could prevent her, even if they had wished, flew from 
the room. 

As she flew by him, Magnus fixed one passionate, reproach- 
ful look upon her, and said, in a hurried voice, 

“ Fear nothing, Elsie ! I wiM never trouble you.’^ 

Alice, still smiling, pointed him to a chair. He sat down, 
dropped his forehead upon his hands for a moment, sighed 
heavily, looked up, and opened his story. He told Alice that 
he had discovered, to his eternal sorrow, that Pllsie did not love 
him, that though to resign her was like resigning his hope of 
Heaven, yet every principle of justice and honour obliged him 
to do so ; he concluded by asking her opinion as tq the best 
manner of breaking this affair to General Garnet, so as to 
shield Elsie from his indignation. 

And so you wish to give Elsie up 

Wish V* and Magnus dropped his forehead into his palms 
with a groan that might have startled all the house, had they 
been listening. Then, lifting his head up again, he said sternly, 
almost fiercely. 

Listen ! If Elsie loved me, not all the power of earth 
or of hell — or — God forgive me ! — I had nearly said of Hea- 
ven ! — should sever her from me ! not you — not her father — 
not herself — if only she loved me ! But she does not, and it 
is all over !” 

And who told you she did not love you V’ inquired Alice, 
smiling at his vehemence, and sighing as her thoughts flew 
back to the past, when she was resigned in spite of herself 
Who told you that Alice did not return your love 
With a gestu'e of despair, Magnus recounted all that had 


152 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


passed between himself and Elsie, and ended, as he had begun, 
with a groan, dropping his head upon his hands. 

“ Puir human bodies are sic’ fules, 

♦ Wi’ a’ their colleges and schules, 

That when nae real ills perplex ’em, 

They mak eno’ themsel’s to vex ’em,” 

sang Alice ; then said, — 

‘‘ Oh, Magnus ! with all your knowledge — with your classic, 
and mathematic, and philosophic, and metaphysic learning — 
with all your knowledge, not to know a young girPs heart bet- 
ter than that ! Oh, Magnus ! ^ with all your getting, get wis- 
dom, get understanding.' " 

Alice, Cousin Alice ! Do you mean to intimate what 
sometimes I have madly hoped — that I have been mistaken, 
that Elsie does — " 

That Elsie loves you a thousand fold more now that she 
avoids you, than she did while she laughed, and talked, and 
romped with you. Oh, man ! you should have found this out 
for yourself, and not have put me to the shame of betraying 
my child. And now, never let me hear another word of your 
self-sacrificing resignation of Elsie's hand; or I shall take you 
at your word, as she would do noWj for I don't beKeve in it. 
I have more faith in the cruellest demonstrations of a down- 
right honest, sincere, human passion, than in all the self-mar- 
tyrizing resignation in the world !" said Alice, with a strange 
asperity, for her thoughts flew back again to the past. Go, 
Magnus! You will find Elsie in the ball-room. Go, Magnus; 
I love you, or I never would have said all that I have said to 
you." 

Magnus seized the hand of Alice, pressed it to his heart, 
to his lips, and darted from the room in search of his be- 
trothed. 

He found her in the large saloon, described in the beginning 
of this story as occupying the whole of the right-hand wing of 
the house. She was standing at a table, arranging a large bo- 
quet in a marble vase. He stole softly up behind her, and 
restraining the impetuous force of his emotions, passed his arm 
gently around her waist, and drew her — so gently 1 — to hia 
heart. And Elsie's head sank upon his shoulder. He raised 
her chin and kissed her — still so gently I — as fearing to startle 
her shy trust and again frighten her away. So gently, and 
trembling all over, far in his bosom he held a young tornado 


31HE UNEXPECTED QUEST. 


153 


in check. At last she moved to withdraw herself from hia 
arms ; he pressed her once more to his bosom, printed one more 
kiss upon her lips, and let her go. So quiet and so silent was 
their reconciliation. 

He stood there where she left him in a happy trance, until 
•the company began to drop in one by one, and in couples, and 
trios, and in small parties. 

And then he wandered out by himself. He strolled down 
the shaded avenue, and through the gate, and over the bur- 
nished hills, now brown with the sear wind of November, 
under the cold, deep blue starlight skies, wrapped in a bliss- 
ful dream, until the sudden peal of music from the house awoke 
him. 

He turned to retrace his steps, and now saw the whole 
south wing blazing with light, and the sprite-like figures of 
the dancers as they flitted by the illuminated windows. He 
hastened back, entered the house, hurried to the little room 
always kept sacred to his use, arranged his toilet, and went 
below. 

He entered the ball-room, which was resplendent and joy- 
ous with light, and music, and gay and brilliant company. 
Magnus slowly made his way through the crowd in search of 
his lady-love, but nodding, smiling, shaking hands, according 
to the degree of his acquaintance with the individuals that 
made up the company. 

Judge Jacky was there in great force — superb in a blue 
velvet coat, white satin vest, and small clothes, white silk 
stockings, slippers, and diamond-studded buckles. His hair 
was dressed and powdered, and he danced so vigorously that, 
wherever he moved, a little snow-storm fell in the shape of 
poudre-hlanc. Judge Jacky made it a point to dance “ with 
every lady in the room’^ — he avowed it. But first he danced 
twice with every ugly girl, old maid, portionless widow, and 
every other doomed wall-flower at the ball. It would have 
done any one^s heart good to have seen Judge Jacky doing the 
agreeable to some poor, plain, neglected old maid — to see how 
deprecatingly he bowed before her, and solicited'^^Hhe felicity 
of her hand for her next disengaged set,^^ as if he were firmly 
convinced that there had been a general run upon her for the 
next half-a-dozen cotillions. It would have pleased you to 
have seen him lead her out with such a proud and happy air, 
as if he felt that she had conferred upon him the greatest bliss 
that the heart of man was capable of feeling, and the great esl 


154 THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 

honour the brain of man was capable of sanely sustaining. And 
then, to see him dance with her — bowing with so much defer- 
ence every time he took her hand in the turning of the dance. 
And then, to see him lead her back to her seat, and bow again, 
and thank her with such an air of profound gratitude and 
respect. And to hear him ask her in a low, insinuating voice, 
whether she would take a cream, a jelly, or a glass of wine, or 
water ? And to see him move off and bring it to her, and 
stand and fan her until it was time for the next quadrille to 
form, and then, as it was not etiquette to lead out the same 
lady twice in succession, to see him go off to where the bashful 
young men lurked about the doors, take one of them, whisper, 
“ Come, I will introduce you to a most charming woman,’’ 
carry him up to our old maid, present him, and leave him 
there under the necessity of taking her out to dance. And 
so, having provided her a partner, to see him saunter off in 
search of some evergreen widow of sixty, and with a deep 
obeisance, entreat the honour of her hand, and listen for her 
answer as though life, death, and immortality hung upon her 
words! Oh, Judge Jacky! the young beauties all loved you 
and laughed at you, and the old maids and old widows all 
voted you a “perfect gentleman.” Oh, Judge Jacky Wylie 
— dear Judge Jacky 1 we know that you are popular up in 
heaven, where you have been gone these many years, but, 
shall we ever see your like again on earth ? 

And Ambrosia Wylie was there, too. Miss Ambush, as 
the coloured folk perverted her pretty name. Oh, well named 
both ways, for she had grown up the most alluring ignis-fatuus 
that ever drew men on an elf chase through brambles and 
quagmires. Yes, “Miss Ambush” was there, with her darkly 
veiled but splendid eyes, and glowing lips, smiling out from 
the thicket of shining auburn hair that fell in a hundred little 
spiral ringlets down her rosy cheeks. Yes, Miss Ambush was 
there, moving through the mazy dance, and dropping here and 
there words and glances, seeds that soon, in the fertile soil of 
vanity and hope, and sunned by smiles, and fanned by sighs, 
and watered by tears, were to grow up in a harvest of heart- 
aches. I know that twenty -five young fools went away that 
night, each believing himself beloved by Ambrosia. Oh ! 
Ambrosia- -Miss Ambush — how can you serve Ulysses Roe- 
buck so? Don’t you see that “ Marse Useless” has gone (<ff 
in dudgeon into that distant corner, and reared his long back 
aji against the wall, and crossed his legs and folded his arms, 


THE UNEXPECTED GUEST. 


156 


and is looking daggers and bullets at your adorers, and ^^un- 
utterable things’’ at you ? This moment he is only witliheld 
by good manners from giving you a good shaking, and your 
partner a good kicking. There ! his uncle, your father, our 
good Judge Jacky, has just gone to him, and requested, as a 
personal favour, that, as long as he is standing there doing 
nothing, he will go and be agreeable to that poor, lame girl, 
who cannot dance, while he himself goes and walks a minuet 
with her cross-eyed mother. A.nd just listen to Ulysses ! He 
has had the atrocious wickedness to tell his kind uncle and 
benefactor to go to — no place I And that is all owing to you 
and your jack-o-lantern flitting and flirting. Miss Ambush. 
See how much sin you make people commit. And now, this 
is the very triumph of coquetry. She has already drawn 
General Garnet on to ask her to dance ! General Garnet, the 
proud, the stern, the majestic, the unbendable, is actually 
bending over her with his most seraphic smile, and a gaze 
that might melt all the icebergs in the Northern Ocean — and 
she has raised her languishing eyes, with the look of a gratified 
angel, and she has given her hand, and he, still shining upon 
her with that sun-like smile, is leading her to the head of the 
cotillion. 

In the mean time, Magnus found his lady-love. She was 
sitting at the fiirthest extremity of the room, the centre of a 
circle of sprightly young people, who were eagerly engaged in 
asking her questions concerning her residence abroad, London, 
the Court, the King, &c., &c., and as eagerly listening to her 
replies. As Magnus gently broke through this circle, and 
approached her side, her eyes fell, and her colour rose. 

Her young friends, with a smile, a laugh, or an arch glance, 
dropped off, one by one, leaving the lovers alone. 

And now Elsie’s eyes were dropped to the ground, and her 
colour mounted to her temples. 

At the same moment a young gentleman came up, and 
asked the pleasure of her hand in the next quadrille. 

Elsie, with a start, and a sigh of relief, suffered him to lead 
her forth to the head of -the cotillion. 

I am sure. Dr. Hardcastle was unconscious of the angry 
flush and fierce glance, with which he followed the meanderings 
of the young couple through the mazes of the dance. 

Not so Elsie. With many a swdft and furtive glance she 
letected the angry passion of her lover’s face, and felt self- 
I'eproach enough 'to bewilder her movements. Never had 


156 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


beautiful Elsie danced with less grace, and never had she been 
so glad when the set was over. 

Her partner led her to a seat, distant from the one he had 
taken her from, took his seat by the side of her, and held her 
in conversation that made her more fidgety than before. 

Poor Elsie was at length relieved by Judge Jacky, who, 
seeing her distress and embarrassment, came up, and taking 
my gentleman by the arm, and saying to him, 

There is a very lovely woman who would not be averse to 
dancing the next set with you ; come, let me introduce you to 
her,’’ marched him off to dance with a tall, thin young lady 
of sixty-five. 

Dr. Hardcastle now left his position across the room, and 
walking leisurely, came up to Elsie, and dropped slowly into 
the seat just vacated. 

And at that very instant, as if to try his patience to the 
utmost, up came Ulysses Roebuck, and holding out his hand, 
in quite a confident way, informed Elsie, that he intended to 
confer upon her the glory and the joy of being his partner in 
the next set. 

Elsie glanced at Magnus, shook her head, and laughed 
lightly. 

Ulysses persisted, affirming that indeed he was in earnest, 
and did not mean to humbug her ; that he really had reserved 
the honour and the pleasure of his hand in the next cotillion 
for her, and her alone. That his uncle had selected a very 
charming partner for him, whom he had declined, in con- 
sideration of her. 

Elsie laughed a little, and told him, she feared the honour 
and the pleasure” was only offered to her in order to pique 
Ambrosia. 

Whereupon Roebuck begun to vow and protest, but in the 
midst of his vociferous asseverations, he happened to spy Am- 
brosia sitting down, quite exhausted, quite alone, apparently 
quite disengaged, for the first time during the evening, and 
Ulysses suddenly sped off towards her, in order to secure her 
at once — for the dance ? — no, for a good, rousing quarrel. 

Why did you not dance with Ulysses ?” inquired Magnus 
of Elsie. 

She threw a swift glance to his face, then dropped her eyes, 
and replied in a low tone, 

I shall not dance again to-night.” 


THE UNEXPECTED GUEST. 


157 


Why he asked, taking her hand, and seeming to study 
it?, deep beauty. Why will you not dance again fo-night 

But she coloured so deeply, and looked so distressed, that 
pe desisted from questioning her. 

At last Elsie of herself said in a very low voice, 

Mother told me not to dance, unless i4r were to make up 
a set, that could not otherwise be completed.^^ 

^^But I do not understand, why you should have been 
warned against your favourite amusement, Elsie 

Why, lest J)y filling up one place in the cotillion, I might 
keep some young lady from dancing, replied she — but then, 
as though spurning disingenuousness, she added — but that 
was not the only reason I refused to Ulysses,^^ then pausing, 
and making a great effort over herself, she added, in a very 
low and tremulous voice : It was because you looked so 
annoyed while I was dancing with Mr. Brent.^^ ^ 

The light of an unutterable joy shone on the face of Magnus. 
He caught her hand with a strong, almost crushing clasp — 
his bosom heaved — his eyes kindled and smouldered. He 
stooped his lips near Elsie’s ear to whisper something, but her 
cheek blazed. 

And just then a slight bustle at the other extremity of the 
room attracted their attention. Exclamations of astonishment, 
joy, and wonder, were intermingled with many words of cordial 
greeting, and of hearty welcoming. Above all noises were 
heard the jocund tones of old Mr. Hardcastle. The bustle 
widened in the crowd, like eddies in the water where a stone 
had just been cast, and the crowd seemed to be swayed 
towards the place where our lovers sat. The centre of this 
crowd was a young man of rather effeminate, but exceeding 
personal beauty, tall, and slightly, but elegantly proportioned ; 
with Grecian features, a fair, roseate complexion, golden hair, 
and light, soft, hazel eyes. He was receiving, and gracefully 
and graciously acknowledging the devoirs of all around him, 
who were also moving with him toward Magnus and Elsie, 
As he drew near, they both simultaneously exclaimed. 

My cousin Lionel !” 

Lionel Hardcastle !” 

And both eagerly started forward, holding out their hands, 
in joyful welcome, before even thinking of the miracle of his 
advent. 

Li Dnol a^ first shook hands with Magnus, then, seeming to 
10 


158 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER, 


yield to a sudden and irresistible impulse, folded him to his 
heart in a close brotherly embrace. 

He then took Elsie^s hand, bowed over it gracefully, raised 
it tenderly to his lips, when Elsie, exclaiming, 

Oh, my dear old playmate, 1 am so glad ! so glad ! that 
you were not lost after all I” threw herself into his arms. 

The youth's eye and cheek kindled with a hectic flush, as 
he pressed the innocent, affectionate girl for an instant to his 
bosom, and released her to turn and see Magnus grasp her 
arm with no very gentle hand, and lead her away. To the 
many eager questions of When did you arrive Where 
from How did you escape Where have you been 
all this time put to him by the astonished crowd as soon as 
they recovered sufficient strength, Lionel replied. 

To mcrrow, to morrow, I will tell you all about it." 

That you shan't I you shan't tell for a week. It is 
enough, good heaven, to have you among us. No more ques- 
tions shall be asked or answered for a week !" exclaimed 
Judge Wylie, in a magisterial tone, and the company under- 
stood that they had been wearying a fatigued traveller, and 
desisted. 

It was late when the ball broke up. And Judge J acky, 
who seemed possessed with the spirit of jollity, resolved to 
follow up this party by one of his own. Accordingly, that 
very night, he improvised the time, place, and circumstance" 
j)f a ball, and availed himself of the opportunity afforded by 
the presence of so many of his familiar friends, to give out 
rather informal verbal invitations. When all the company had 
departed, a cloud remained upon the brow of General Garnet. 
He spoke coldly to Magnus, in reply to his good-night," as 
the latter left the house. Alice looked deeply distressed. 
Elsie glanced from father to mother with a vague presentiment 
of impending evil. 


THE NEW-FOUND HEIR. 


159 


CHAPTER XXI. 

THE NEW-FOUND HEIR. 

Ernest. Which is the bridegroom ? 

Wilhelm. Marry ! the heir. — Newman. 

Magnus had returned home with his cousin. The next 
day the family from the Hollow dined at Mount Calm, by in- 
vitation. General Garnet was still cold and reserved to Mag- 
nus, hut showed the most marked attention to Lionel. This 
at first surprised Doctor Hardcastle; but soon, with a haughty 
curl of the lip, he thought, 

I see how it is ; fortune has changed. I have lost an in- 
heritance.^^ 

After dinner, Lionel told a tale of an Algerine cruiser, of 
a long captivity, of a hair-breadth escape, that left as vague 
an impression of reality upon the minds of his hearers, as it 
leaves now upon the minds of my readers. They did not 
doubt his story, but they could not well connect the effeminate 
beauty of the man with any life of pirate-adventure, and sla- 
very hardships. 

Elsie was saddened for the first time in her life, and she 
scarcely knew wherefore. During the short estrangement be- 
tween herself and her lover, she had been nervous, anxious, 
excitable; now, she was depressed. She loved her mother 
very tenderly; she loved her father passionately; and Mag- 
nus she loved — oh, how shall I say ? — with an infinite future 
reservation. But now she saw a cloud — she was too guileless 
to know wherefore — settle and deepen, dark, cold, and chill, 
between her lover and her father; and the happy, buoyant 
Elsie grew pensive and thoughtful. General Garnet, with all 
his coldness, was studiously polite; and Magnus was self- 
possessed and social. 

As this day passed, so — as far as the relative positions of 
some of the parties were concerned — passed the weeks, and 
brought the day upon which J udge Wylie's party was to bo 
given. 

There was a heavy cloud of thought and care upon the brow 


160 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


of General Garnet; and those who knew him well, surmised 
that he was considering the best manner of transferring the 
hand of the heiress of Mount Calm, from the poor doctor to 
the rich heir of Hemlock Hollow. 

Magnus continued his visits, as usual, undisturbed by the 
freezing exterior of General Garnet. 

Alice always received him with affection ; and Elsie’s man- 
ner to him was earnest, affectionate, deferential, as if she 
wished to make up for her father’s coldness. She was no 
longer shy and diffident. It seemed as if the presentiment of 
some impending misfortune, which she felt rather than under- 
stood, had thrown down the barriers of her reserve, and that 
she could not do too much, in her sweet, feminine way, to as- 
sure Magnus of her unchangeable affection and unswerving 
truth. Her eyes waited on him, shyly, all day long, for her 
maiden pride was self-subdued, but not her maiden delicacy. 
Elsie had no suspicion of what her father really meant, until 
the morning of the day upon which Judge Wylie’s ball was 
to be given. General Garnet called Elsie into his room, and 
having explained in his polite way — he was polite even to his 
child — that circumstances beyond all human calculation or 
control had rendered it expedient that a new adjustment of 
affairs should take place, and that she must no longer look 
upon Magnus Hardcastle in the light of a suitor for her hand, 
but must, on the contrary, prepare herself to think of, and 
accept Lionel Hardcastle, to whom he had given permission to 
visit her — Elsie opened wide her eyes in undisguised astonish- 
ment, that her father, her revered father, should ask her to 
break her plighted faith ; but without one atom of terror, and 
without an instant’s hesitation, she answered. 

Why, father, being engaged to Magnus, with yours and 
mother’s consent, I would no more forsake him now than if I 
were already his wedded wife.” 

^‘We shall see. Miss Garnet. I will give you time,” re- 
plied the General, in his soft, but sarcastic manner. 

Father,” said Elsie, her cheek burning with shame and 
indignation, if I should give you to suppose that any lapse 
of time could alter my determination, I should be a coward 
or a hjpocrite. Father, I would not have engaged myself 
without your consent and my mother’s, for I should have felt 
<hat to be wrong ; but having engaged myself with your con- 
sent and blessing, I will not break that engagement, coine 
what may. I promised, with your approbation, to give my 


THE NEW-FOUND HEIR. 


161 


hand to Doctor Hardcastle on Thursday week, and Thursday 
week, father, I must do it. Doctor Hardcastle has lost an 
inheritance ; an event which he rejoices in, since it gives his 
uncle back a dearly-beloved, and long-lost son. But he must 
not lose his wife, fkther, he shall not.^^ 

General Garnet stood like one thunderstruck. His wife had 
never ventured to oppose his will, except 

“ To plead, lament, and sue,” 

to avert some cruel deed. His servants had ever trembled be- 
fore him. His very neighbours and associates had fallen into 
the habit of yielding to his inflexible will ; and here was a 
little girl of seventeen years of age, with positively her own 
notions of right and wrong, of faith and infidelity, of honour 
and dishonour — and telling him, with a high, unblenching 
cheek, and a clear, unfaltering voice, that she meant to abide 
by right, and eschew wrong ! He turned pale with suppressed 
rage ; his eyes gleamed with their sinister light ; he clenched 
his fist, and made one step towards her, but retreated again, 
and dropped his hand. The polished ^‘gentleman’’ asserted 
its supremacy of habit over the angry “ man.’^ It would not 
be comme-il-faut for General Garnet’^ to give ‘‘ Miss Garnet’^ 
a good drubbing with his fists ; besides, there was a look of 
calm, healthful moral strength about that mere child, that 
forcibly impressed him. 

Father, this thing came suddenly upon me, and surprised 
me out of my self-possession, and the respect that is due to 
you. I spoke hastily, and, I fear, irreverently. I earnestly 
repent it, and ask your pardon. Forgive me,'’ said Elsie ; and 
she approached, and would have offered herself to his embrace; 
but General Garnet extended his hand, and waved her off’. 

“ Do I understand you to say. Miss Garnet, that you re- 
pent your foolish decision ? — if so, I am sincerely rejoiced to 
hear it.” 

^‘Nb, sir. Always, father, and in all else, I will be your 
submissive child. But for this, sir, you, yourself, laid on me 
this other duty, which I cannot shake off. Forgive me.” 

General Garnet looked at her steadily, while gleamed that 
red light from his dark eyes, and slowly shook his heaa, as 
communing with himself. Then, turning suddenly, and mut- 
tering something that sounded very much like a threat to 
break her will or br^ak her heart,” he left the room ; and 


162 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


Elsie sank down in her chair, and leaning upon the window- 
sill. raised her eyes to Heaven, 

“ Full of thought and prayer.” 


CHAPTER XXII. 

• • DEVOTION OP LOVE. 

Oh ! sweeter far than wealth, than fame, than all, 

Is first and passionate love : it stands alone. — Byron. 

There was a much larger, hut not so select a company, in- 
vited by the genial, social Judge Jacky, than that assembled 
by the proud and reserved Greneral G-arnet. And by early 
candle light’’ — the country hour of assembling for a ball — the 
whole house — parlours, chambers, family rooms, and saloon — 
were crowded to overflowing. The dining-room only was kept 
shut up, for there the two long tables were to be set for sup- 
per. The saloon, or big room,” as it is plainly called in old- 
fashioned country houses, was blazing with light and splen- 
dour, and pealing with music, and alive with young men and 
maidens in ball-dresses, laughing, talking, wooing, flirting, 
dancing. It was something like General G-arnet’ s ball on a 
larger and somewhat coarser scale, it must be confessed, but 
then it was such a joyous, jubilant, exultant scene ! The young 
folks laughed, and talked, and danced, and jested with so much 
gladness and freedom ! And Judge Jacky moved about laugh- 
ing, talking, joking, gallanting all the ugly old maids, making 
love to all the low-spirited old widows, flattering and compli- 
menting all the plain girls, encouraging all shame-faced young 
gentlemen, and electrifying into jocund life all the ^^flat, stale, 
and unprofitable” folks in the joyous company. 

But it is not with the gay and thoughtless of that merry 
crowd that we have to do, but with our great-hearted Magnus, 
and our dear Elsie. You know at this moment, just as well 
as I do, that they both had too much on their minds to think 
of dancing. They had each come to the ball chiefly to meet 
the other and have a talk. Greneral Garnet would willingly 
have. kept Elsie away, but he did not think it polite to offend 


DEVOTION OF LOVE. 


163 


Judge Wylie by doing so. But one thing he had taken care 
to do — to send for Lionel Hardcastle to escort her there. And 
Lionel had ridden in the carriage alone with Elsie from Mount 
Calm to Point Pleasant, and had had every opportunity of pur- 
suing a courtship that he had commenced almost from the first 
evening of his return. Elsie cut him short in the midst of 
one of his finest speeches, by telling him that he was making 
love to his cousin’s wife — or to one who would be so on Thurs- 
day week ! Yes, Elsie compelled herself to say exactly that to 
Lionel, to crush his hopes at once. On reaching the house at 
Point Pleasant, Elsie said aloud to Magnus, who came out to 
meet them, 

“ Doctor Hardcastle, help me to thank your cousin for the 
kind manner in which he has supplied your place in attending 
me here,” and, bowing courteously to Lionel, she took the arm 
of Magnus, and entered the saloon. 

They were now seated at the farthest extremity of the vast 
saloon, within the bay window. Elsie was looking very beau- 
tiful tills evening. She was dressed in a gossamer white crape, 
over white satin. Her snowy arms and neck were bare, and 
encircled by diamond bracelets and necklace. She was always 
beautiful, but now her usually happy, joyous face was softened 
and deepened into an expression of serious thought and feeling 
ineffably charming. Have I ever described Elsie to you in 
her blooming young womanhood ? I think not. Let me draw 
her portrait as she sat there by the side of Magnus, for never 
— as they say of brides — had she looked so lovely.” 

She had a finer vital temperament than either of her parents ; 
I do not knOw where she got it from, probably from some red- 
headed, fire-eating cavalier of the reign of Charles; but she 
had more fire and enthusiasm than either of them; it occa- 
sionally glowed upon her lips, burned in her cheeks, and blazed 
in her eyes. 

In form, she was rather above the medium height, of small 
frame, delicate, but not thin, for the round and small bones 
were well covered with soft, elastic flesh, that rounded and 
tapered off in the true line of beauty to the slender wrists and 
ankles. Her neck and bosom were beautiful beyond all poetic 
dreams of beauty, suggesting sweet thoughts of love, truth, and 
repose. Her hair was rich and abundant, falling in a mass of 
warm-hued, golden, auburn ringlets. Her eyes were dark blue, 
*^rge and languishing. Her complexion very fair, but warm- 
ing in ^he cheek and lips into a faint but beautiful flush; the 


164 THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 

prevailing tone of her countenance was half-devotional; half* 
voluptuous; indeed, the nature of every ardent temperament 
is luxurious or saintly, as moral and mental tone gives it a 
bias; in hers, both were blended, and the general character of 
her whole face and form, air and manner, was — Harmony. 
There was no warring, no discord, not one dissonant element 
in that pure, that spiritualized, yet proud nature. She seemed 
now, even when talking and hearing others talk, to be only 
half given to the world ; to be wrapped in the vision of some 
delicious, some blissful secret; to possess some hidden, eternal 
spring of joy, in which her soul ever bathed, and that softened 
her countenance to a passionate tenderness; to have some 
secret, divine truth shrined in the temple of her heart, that 
elevated her expression to an exalted spirituality. 

It was the religion of love, perhaps some would say the en- 
thusiasm or the fanaticism of love. 

They had been conversing. Elsie had told him all that had 
passed between herself and her father. And Magnus had re- 
counted a similar scene that had taken place between himself 
and General Garnet. He had, as Elsie had, asserted his 
determination to abide by their betrothal. He repeated the 
same thing to Elsie now. It was this — this saving of her 
heart’s fondest hopes amid the crash of fortune — that made 
Elsie feel and look so very blessed. 

They were still conversing. He raised her hand — she had 
an exquisitely beautiful hand, elegantly shaped, and white as 
snow, and now diamond rings sparkled upon it ; appropriate 
ornaments for it, as one may see. Well, he raised that small, 
white, jewelled hand, and looking tenderly, half-remorsefully 
upon it, said — and his voice was full-toned and melodious with 
love and sorrow : 

This tiny, snow-white hand, sparkling with diamonds ! — 
this fresh, pure, delicate thing! — a jewel itself I — how can it 
be put to the uses to which my wife’s hand must be put, 
Elsie?” 

She looked at him with passionate devotion, saying : 

Take the jewels off and cast them from thee, Magnus--* 
do I” 

And this slender wrist — ^you have such a beautiful arm, 
Elsie! What a round, full graceful curve from the elbow to 
the forearm, and how elegantly it tapers off to the slender 
wrist I Ah ! this arm, so pure and fresh, so well decked with 


DEVCTION OF LOVE. 165 

this sparkling diamond bracelet — ^like icicles upon snow 1 
How will it support labour 

“ The bracelet offends you, too ? It was my father’s birth- 
day gift ; but I like it no longer — it offends you. Take it off 
and cast it from you. Press your thumb and finger around 
my arm instead. Press it tightly, so that you will leave a 
ring there. It will be a red bracelet — or even a black one ; 
so that when I can no longer see you, I may close my eyes, 
and, feeling the impress of your fingers, cheat my heart with 
the fancy that you still grasp my wrist with a sweet violence. 
It will be another dearer bracelet that I will wear in remem- 
brance of you. Oh, don’t you know I understand now the 
enthusiasm of the saints ?” 

^‘Dearest Elsie, let us go forth from here. The light, the 
glare, the crowd, the noise here is insufferable. Let us go 
forth in the fresh air under the light of the holy stars. Come, 
love ! My heart hungers, faints to press you to itself. Come, 
love !” And opening a leaf of the bay window, he led her 
forth. It was a mild, clear, beautiful star-light night for the 
season, yet the air was chill, and Elsie was lightly clad. He 
looked at her and glanced around. The lighted window of a 
sitting-room in the angle of the building showed that apart- 
ment to be vacant. He led her there. It was one of those 
small conical wainscoted parlours so common in old houses. 
A fine fire was burning in the chimney, and a little old-fash- 
ioned green settee drawn up on one side of the fire-place. The 
room had an air of delightful snugness, comfort, and repose 
He led her to this sofa and seated himself beside her, opened 
his arms and whispered — Come to my bosom, my own soul’s 
love !” and folded her closely there. Elsie, my pure, fresh, 
delicate, elegant Elsie, can you go with me indeed to share 
my lot of poverty and struggle ? Oh, Elsie ! if you do, will 
you never repent ? Oh, Elsie ! do you know what poverty is ? 
born and brought up in luxury and wealth, do you know what 
poverty is ? Oh, Elsie ! my little idealist, there is no poetry 
in poverty. Oh, Elsie ! my little epicurienne, every sense is 
shocked and tortured in poverty. You see unsightly things, 
you hear discordant sounds, you come in contact with rough- 
ness, you partake of coarse food; oh, Elsie! ideality is 
wounded and saddened, sense is shocked, and love itself, per- 
haps, revolted !” 

Never ! oh, never !” she said, fervently. 

“ Oh. Elsie ! my bright, beautiful Elsie ! my delicate, ele- 


166 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


gant Elsie ! I am worse than an executioner to marry you, 
I feel it, and yet I shall do it. Grod knows that I will have 
you, and let the future take care of itself!” he said, pressing 
her strongly to his bosom. 

‘‘ Yes, have me, have me ; let me be always with you. It 
will be bliss ineffable. I should die if you were to leave me. 
My heart would consume itself in its own fires. I do not 
care for wealth, or rank, or distinction, or for ease or luxury, 
1 only care for the wealth and luxury o^ your affection, and 
your constant society. I do not fear to have ^ ideality wounded 
and saddened.^ No, for the soul creates its own poetry. I 
do not fear to have every sense shocked. I do not fear to live 
amid unsightly objects and discordant sounds, and rough con- 
tacts ] oh no, for the soul creates its own heaven of beauty and 
harmony. I do not fear to have love revolted. Oh I no, no, no ! 
I only fear a separation from you. My whole being trembling, 
tends towards you — so strong, as it would lose itself in you. 
Shut out the world, shut out light and sound, only let me feel 
your arms around me, pressing my bosom to your heart as 
now. All my life is compressed within my heart, and it is 
bursting to meet yours. I am blind, deaf, dead to all but 
you. I have scarcely self enough to say ^ I have no self.^ I 
love myself in you. Oh, my greater self ! my larger life I” 

So the softly flushed and moist cheeks, the heavy, heavy 
liquid eyes, and the palpitating bosom said, but no word es- 
caped the parted and glowing lips. Nor could a word have 
escaped between the kisses that were pressed upon them. 
Then he released her, and they sat upon the old-fashioned 
sofa by the glowing hickory fire in the old wainscoted parlour, 
and, hand in hand, talked. Oh ! hov) they talked ! Some- 
times with profound earnestness, sometimes with light and 
bantering gayety. 

Yet you have had many admirers, Elsie,” said Magnus. 

Have I ?” she asked. 

Oh, Elsie, you know that you have.” 
try not to know it.” 

^‘Why, dearest?” 

‘^ Because I wish I was an Eastern bride for you. Oh, yes ! 
I wish that I had been reared in conventual seclusion, that no 
man’s eye had seen me until my husband came to claim me; 
that, then, I could have gone apart from the world and seen 
only him. That would have been exquisite; that would have 
boon blissful ; for I do not want admiration ; I want only your 


DEVOTION or LOVE. 


167 


heart’s approval. There would be such intense and concen- 
trated joy in knowing only you My joy would be diluted if 
my heart were divided among many.” 

But your numerous admirers, dearest ?” 

Oh ! my numerous admirers, I did not finesse when ] 
asked you if I really had any ; for, in truth, my ‘ admirers’ 
never came near enough to me to breathe their admiration.” 

Why was that ? How was that? Tell me.” 

“Look in my eyes, love, and read your answer there. 
Peruse my heart, love. It lies open to you as a book.” 

“ Nay, tell me. I love to hear you talk. It delights me 
to listen to you. Tell me now. It is some sweet secret that 
will give me hettven to know. Come, love, be generous. 
Breathe the secret v/ut upon my bosom,” he whispered softly, 
and drew her again to his heart. “ Come, love — ” 

“ Yes, I will. I will repress this feeling of reluctance, and 
tell you all my thoughts. Yes, for surely I feel you have a 
right to have an answer to any question you ask me, .my 
higher self. Listen, then. Bend low, for I shall whispei 
very low, lest the air around should hear me. When you 
first drew me on to love you, when, leaf by leaf, my heart un- 
folded and developed under the life-giving warmth of your 
eyes, of your touch, just as a rose buds and blooms under the 
rays of its sovereign, the sun, it — my heart I mean, or some- 
thing rising within it — taught me many mysteries that neither 
prophet, priest, nor sage could have taught me. Among other 
things it revealed to me the knowledge of all that would please 
and all that would displease you in myself, and impelled me 
to follow the fij-st and eschew the last. It made me wish to 
isolate myself for you. It killed the very first germ of vanity 
in my heart, and made me wish that none should come near 
enough to me to know whether I were beautiful or otherwise, 
far less so near as to tell me of it. It made me shrink from 
all those little gallantries from gentlemen, which make up so 
large a portion of a belle’s life. I was so afraid of being found 
unworthy of you when you should take me. I should not 
have felt good enough for you if my hand, that awaited your 
hand, had been squeezed and kissed, and my waist, that 
awaited the dear girdle of this arm — fold it closer round me 
now — had been pressed, and I, your expectant bride, had been 
twined and whirled about in the giddy waltz. But none of 
these things have happened to me. I come to you almost an 
oriental bride for exclusiveness, and that makes me so happy. 


1(58 


THE DISCARD EB DAUGHTER. 


I Should have else been unhappy, should else have been un- 
worthy of you.’’ 

All this was murmured slowly, softly, dreamily, as though 
the truth stole out of a slumbering heart, while she lay upon 
his bosom, and the last words were breathed forth in an almost 
inaudible sigh. But he answered with passionate vehemence, 
clasping her to his heart — 

“ Unworthy of me ! You ! so beautiful ! so good ! so in- 
tellectual ! — save when your highest intellect is ’whelmed in 
feeling! — ^yet, no — your highest intelligence — your spirit — is 
never so ’whelmed ! You, the heiress of the haughtiest 
family in Maryland — and I — who am I?” 


\ ‘‘ My greater self ! my life-giver ! — by these titles only I 

\ know you. Does my rank and fortune olfend you ? • Pluck 
I me away from them ; for I am yours. Bury me with your- 
self, in some lone forest-cabin, in the wilderness, whither your 
footsteps tend ; and there my hunter’s wife will forget the 
world, while preparing his cabin for his return at eve. And 
she will not think the hours of hxS absence long, for they will 
be filled with fervent thoughts of him. Oh ! that hunter’s 
lodge in the wild 1 I see it even in my dreams !” 

And this was not romance ; but the passionate fanaticism 
of first, of early love. 

“ Oh, Elsie ! how you talk !” he exclaimed, gazing on her 
eloquent face with wonder, reverence, and passion. 

She blushed deeply, and bowed her crimson brow upon his 
bosom, murmuring. 


Do I? I am sorry I suppose maidens do not talk so: 
do they?” 


‘‘ I do not know how maidens do or should talk, any more 
than you do,” answered Magnus, and then a singular expres- 
sion passed over his countenance. He bent his gaze upon her, 
with a look of profound thought and searching inquiry, as 
though to read the depths of that heart she had so freely laid 
open to his perusal. And he said, very seriously, “ I do not 
know how maidens talk, for I have spoken with but one maiden 
before of love.” He paused, and gazed down deeply into her 
eyes, as if to read her most hidden thought and feeling — possi- 
bly he expected to see some trace of jealousy there — he saw only 
the calm, profound repose of love, deep joy, and infinite trust. 
He resumed — I never talked with but one maiden of love 
before; she was my first love.” Again he looked down, and 
saw u'^on her beautiful face the same inefiiible repose. H»* 


DEVOTION OF LOVE. 


continued — “ I loved her pass-ionatelj. I lost her. It nearly 
maddened me.” For the last time he gazed down upon lier, 
as she lay quietly over his arm, with Her face turned up to 
his, but her whole countenance radiated with a sort of calm, 
rapt ecstasy, as though she were then in the possession of all 
the bliss possible on earth. He gazed for a moment, full of 
astonishment, and then quietly asked, “ Is it possible that this 
gives you no uneasiness, my love ?” 

‘‘ Does what 

The thought of my first love.” 

‘‘ No, dearest. Why should it ?” 

“ ‘ Wh^ should it f What a question. Why should it 

notr 

I do not know, I am sure. When I do, I will tell you.” 

‘‘Yet,” said Magnus thoughtfully, “though the idea of my 
having had a first love gives you no pain, you felicitated your- 
self and me very much upon the fact of your having had no 
other lover.” 

“Oh ! that was a very different thing. Don’t you feel that 
it was ?” 

“ Yes ; I feel it. But tell me now — think — why is it that 
the thought of my first love does not distress you ?” 

^^Indeed I do not know at all. I only know by the sure 
inspiration of my soul, and feel in every nerve of my body, 
that you love me ; and I am so ineffably blessed.” 

“ My darling Elsie !” he said, joyously kissing the lids 
down upon her two sweet eyes. “ IMy darling Elsie, you are 
not selfish or jealous for yourself, at all. I only wished to 
probe your heart a little. You were so jealous for me that I 
thought perhaps you might be so for yourself. You were not, 
my darling Elsie; my light of life ! You are the only woman 
I ever loved ! Yet, dearest, I told you no fiction. You, your- 
self, were ‘the maiden to whom I spoke before of love.’ But 
it was soon after you returned from school. You, yourself, 
was the maiden whom I lost — for a little while, during our 
short misunderstanding — and whose loss nearly maddened 
me. Oh, come ! enter my heart of hearts, and live there 
for ever!” He clasped her cl oser, and they sub sided into 
silence, or conversed only with theireyesT ^ 

‘ fomglTong they remained in that still trance of joy, but at 
last Elsie withdrew herself, laughing, from his arms, sat down 
beside him, and they began to talk of their future home. He 
told her it would be indeed a cabin in the backwoods oi 


.170 THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER 

Maryland; but not a hunter’s cabin, as she fancifully sup- 
posed. Oh, no ! but a country doctor’s dwelling, in a new 
settlement. And that he would not return at eve in the hunt- 
er’s picturesque costume, with a gun and a nine-antlered deer 
across his broad shoulders, but upon the back of a stout mule, 
with a country doctor’s saddle-bags behind him. How would 
she like that? 

Oh, very well, dearest Magnus ! for then you will be sav- 
ing life instead of taking it. Oh, yes, I do like — I do love 
your profession, Magnus. Since you must have one, I like it 
better than any other you could have chosen. I think physi- 
cians do more disinterested good than any other set of men on 
earth. I will not even except the preachers. Oh ! yes, I do 
love your profession, dear Magnus, and love you better, if 
possible, for being a poor country doctor. Grod love and bless 
you ! When you shall have come home tired, from your long 
round — oh, you shall have sweet repose, love — indeed you 
shall. Grod bids me to assure you that you shall. Whatever 
our cabin home may be, I can make it a little haven of re- 
pose — a little heaven of bliss for you. Oh, indeed I do not 
fear ! my whole full soul assures me that we shall be happy 
and victorious over fate. Let me kiss your eyes ! — you kissed 
mine just now — so sweetly — Grod bless those grand eyes ! Oh, 
Magnus ! can a cabin or a garb of homespun hide the light, 
the greatness that is in you? Oh, Magnus! I saw a king 
and several princes of the blood when I was presented at court 
by Greneral Armstrong ; but, their foreheads were low and re- 
ceding, their presence had the strut without the dignity of 
majesty. Oh, Magnus 1 their kingly crown could not have 
given either that magnificent forehead of yours. Oh, Mag- 
nus ! there is something greater in you than any surrounding 
you can have. Do not any more dread that I shall be either 
pained or revolted at anything in the circumstances of oui 
condition. The rough walls of a log cabin will not shock or 
sadden me.^’ 

No, darling, for the rough walls of our log cabin, like the 
rough bark of an oak tree, has something really picturesque 
about it; but — ” said he, in a half-sorrowful, half-comic way — 
the pots and kettles, the mops and brooms !” 

What ! the humble little household gods and goddesses, 
that set up no pretension to worship, or even to honourable 
mention, and yet confer so much benefit? No, indeed. .1 
have a kindly feeling for all such. Mine, if they can’t be 


DEVOTION OF LOVE. 


171 


beautiful, shall he neat and pretty. Oh ! don’t you remember 
when we were children, and used to run in out of the snow 
to old Aunt Polly’s kitchen, and how she’d press us in to help 
her every time she could ? Oh ! I know a great deal about 
cooking, and I always had a turn for housekeeping ” 

He arose, took her hand, and raised her up, and looked at 
her from head to foot, as she stood — that delicate, beautiful 
girl, in her elegant ball-dress of gossamer crape over white 
satin, diamonds sparkling on her arms and neck, as he had 
said, like icicles upon snow. He surveyed her, from her 
white rose-wreathed auburn hair to the tip of the white satin 
slipper. He clasped her hand, and looked at it. 

I knc^,” she said, “ what you are thinking of again ! — 
^ Elsie must doff this dress, and this style of dress, for some 
years to come !’ — but do not fear ; within ten years, and by 
the time that the beauty that your love has matured, Elsiesyill 
weave a more elegant dress than this, when her husband’s 
talents shall have ‘achieved greatness.’ And this little hand 
that you look at so fondly, so sadly; ‘this pure, fresh, delicate 
thing — a jewel itself,’ as you called it just now; under this 
soft, white cushion of flesh are nerves and sinews of steel. I 
am very strong, dear Magnus, very strong every way. And I 
can work ; this hand shall toil and retain its beauty, because 
■you prize it, too.” 

He clasped her again to his breast, and drew her white 
arms up around his neck. And then that notion of isolation 
came upon her again like a fond superstition, and she whis- 
pered — 

“ I do not want neighbours or friends where we live, love. 
I want only you. I want no one that can take me off from 
you. It is late. Shall I go ?” 

“Yes, dear love,” he answered, untwining her arms from 
about his neck. 


172 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER^ 


CHAPTER XXIIL 

ELSIE IN THE ATTIC. 

To-night, when my head aches indeed, 

And I can neither think nor read, 

And these blue fingers will not hold 
The pen — (This attic ’s freezing cold) — 

I tell you, I pace up and down 

This garret, crowned with love’s best crown. 

And feasted with love’s perfect feast, 

To think I bear for him at least , — Browning. 

When they re-entered the ball-room, the revelry was still 
At its height. Six cotillions were on the floor. 

Judge Jacky was flying about, now here, and now there, 
now everywhere at once. 

Ambrosia Wylie, in a gold-coloured satin, that harmonized' 
well with her warm-hued tone of beauty, sat in the bay win- 
dow, the sunny centre of a system of satellites. 

General Garnet, who had got through with the political 
business that detained him at Hutton town, had just arrived, 
and was now standing apart, conversing with Lionel Hard- 
castle. He frowned darkly on seeing Elsie enter the room, 
leaning on the arm of Magnus, and both looking so self- 
possessed, confident, and happy. 

He smoothed his brow quickly, however, excused himself 
to Lionel, and advanced towards them. Bowing slightly to 
Magnus, he took the arm of Elsie, and saying that he wished 
to have a conversation with her, drew her off for a promenade. 

In going off, Elsie turned, smiled on Magnus, and said. 

If I do not return in half an hour. Doctor Hardcastle, 
you must seek me out,^^ and, bowing playfully, she went on 
Was that done to insult me. Miss Garnet 
No, dearest father, it was done out of respect to Doctor 
Hardcastle-; as you forgot to excuse yourself to him for taking 
me off so abruptly, it would have been scarcely courteous in 
me to have left him without a word. We would not have 
treated a common acquaintance so, father.^ ^ 


ELSllS IN THE ATTIC. 178 

A common acquaintance ! And pray what more is Boctoi 
Uardcastle entitled henceforth to be considered 
^^As my husband, and your son-in-law, father/^ 

Greneral Garnet turned pale, and spoke low, with suppressed 
rage : 

Your husband, and my son-in-law ! — I — would — ^see — him 
— ^and — ^you — in the lowest pit of H — L first !” 

Elsie gave a violent start, as this awful word struck her like 
a bullet. It was the more awful, that Elsie had never known 
her father to forget himself so far before. Violence shocked 
her, profanity revolted her; she was unaccustomed to either. 
Her father, even in his tyranny, was habitually polite. Her 
mother was ever gentle. Fury, threats, were strange to her; 
and now came this terrible burst of passion, the more terrible 
for its half suppression. She gazed at him in alarm. His 
face was white with anger, but it reminded her of the white 
ashes upon a burning coal. He continued in the same deep, 
stern tone. 

How dared you even receive that young man’s attentions, 
after I have withdrawn my countenance from him ?” 

Father, because his attentions were my right and his right. 
Who else, in your absence, could have attended me with so 
much propriety asked Elsie, trembling in her flesh, but firm 
in her spirit. 

Ho not commit the impertinence of answering my ques- 
tion by asking another again. Miss Garnet. A question which, 
impertinent as it was, I will answer. ^ Who,’ you inquire, ^ in 
my absence, could have attended you with so much propriety 
I reply, Mr. Lionel Hardcastle, the gentleman under whose 
protection I placed you for the evening.” 

And who wickedly abused his position, by addressing the 
words of love to one whom he knew to be Doctor Hardcastle’ s 
betrothed wife.” 

Heath ! — if you say that again,” exclaimed General Gar- 
net, trembling with fury — 

And whom,” continued Elsie, frightened, but resolute, I 
had therefore to dismiss as soon as I found Doctor Hard- 
castle.” 

He grasped her arm with a violence that might have crushed 
it. He set his teeth, and drew his breath hard. He could 
not shake or beat her there — not in that room full of com- 
pany — among those hundreds of people. He could not even 
let them see the rage that was on the eve of explosion. 


174 THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 

He looked around. Seeing Lionel Hardcastle at a short 
distance, he beckoned him to approach, and, without relin- 
quishing his vice-like grip, said, in a deep, hurried tone. 

Do me the favour to call my carriage, sir, instantly, if you 
please.'^ 

Lionel opened his soft, bright eyes, in a look of wide sur- 
prise, turned on Elsie a gaze of mingled admiration, sorrow, 
and deprecation, and bowing to Greneral Grarnet, moved off to 
comply with his request. G-eneral G-arnet drew Elsie after 
him, and pushed off towards the hall. 

He was met full tilt by Judge Jacky, who raised and spread 
out both his arms to intercept them, exclaiming, 

‘‘ Heyday ! what’s this ? — ordered your carriage ? Why, it 
has been put away, and' the horses have been stabled this four 
or five hours. I thought you were going to take a night with 
us — had your rooms prepared.” 

My business is exigent ! Let me pass, sir, if you please !” 
said G-eneral G-arnet, in the deep, stern, unnatural voice in 
which he had spoken before. 

^^Why, what the d — I’s the matter? — what’s happened? 
Let you pass, and supper just going on the table ? D — d if 
Idol” 

Judge Wylie,” said G-eneral Garnet, with forced polite- 
ness, you will be good enough to excuse me ; my business 
demands my immediate return home.” 

^^Well, then, go, neighbour. Go, in the d — I’s name! 
though I am sorry j but you must not take our Rose of the 
World with you. Leave Miss Elsie behind.” 

^^Sir, it is the necessity of withdrawing my daughter from 
this, that constrains my return home.. Grood evening, sir. 
When shall we have the honour of seeing you at Mount 
Calm?” 

^‘Oh, T don’t know — I don’t know, neighbour — I don’t 
know. I have a great mind to swear !” 

^^Give my adieus and respects to your charming daugh- 
ter, sir. Once more, good evening,” said G-eneral G-arnet, 
moving on. 

^‘Good evening — good evening I have a great mind to 
swear, d — d if I haven’t !” 

<‘Your carriage waits. General Garnet,” said Lionel, ap- 
proaching. 

Judge Wyli^” said Elsie, recalling her host, will you 


ELSIE IN THE ATTIC. 175 

be kind enough to take my good-bye to Doctor Hardcastle, 
and tell him that my father has taken me home 

Certainly, Blooming Bose, certainly — 

‘Love’s heralds should be thoughts.’ ” 

And he hurried off to do her bidding. General Garnet grasped 
her arm with a suppressed fierceness, and pulled her after him 
into the hall, thence out into the portico, and down the steps 
to the carriage-door. Pushing her forcilbly in, he jumped in 
after, pulled to the door, commanded the coachman to drive 
rapidly for Mount Calm, and was soon whirled away on the 
road to that place. He maintained a stern silence towards 
Elsie during the whole ride. 

Arrived at Mount Calm, he sprang from the carriage, took 
Elsie out, drew her arm roughly within his own, and pulled 
her up the steps. 

Has your mistress retired ?” was the first question he 
asked of the servant at the door. The man started at the 
fierce abruptness of his master’s tone and manner, and replied, 
hurriedly, that she had. 

It is very well. Go wake up the housekeeper ; ask her 
for the keys of the attic-room, and bring them to me yourself, 
with a night-lamp.” 

The man hurried away in dismay. And General Garnet 
remained there, still with his violent grasp upon Elsie’s arm. 
When the servant returned with the bunch of keys and the 
lights— 

‘‘Precede me up stairs, and on up into the attic,” said 
General Garnet; and grasping Elsie more tightly, he fiercely 
hurried her bn, till they reached the first floor, and the wide 
hall into which the family chambers opened. 

“ Father, this is my chamber-door. I wish to retire,” said 
Elsie, pointing to the door on her left. But her father hur- 
ried her past it. 

The servant was now going up the attic-steps, but paused to 
look down upon the scene. 

“ Father, what are you about to do asked Elsie, holding 
back. Her attire had been very much disordered by the vio- 
lence with which she had been hurried in, her cloak and hood 
had fallen off below stairs ; now her beautiful dress was tum- 
bled, and her hair in wild disorder. “ What are you going to 
do, father ?” she asked again, drawing back. 

But'” he turned upoir her sharply, shook her furiously, 


176 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


though he would have shaken the life from out her ; and then 
seeing the horrified gaze of the servant standing on the stairs, 
he exclaimed, ‘‘ Up into the attic, and wait for me there, in- 
stantly, sirrah. And consider yourself already sold to a trader, 
^or your insolence in watching me V’ 

The appalled servant vanished up the steps, and the un- 
masked tyrant turned to Elsie, and tightening the grasp that 
he had never relinquished, dragged her to the foot of the 
attic-stairs. Here the girl sank with all her weight upon 
him, upheld only by his hand. 

Up, up the stairs with you he exclaimed, fiercely. 

Elsie had too much physical strength to swoon, and too 
much presence of mind to scream. She would not have terri- 
fied her poor mother to no good purpose. Yet her agitation 
was so great, with augmented astonishment and terror, that 
she could not move. 

He seized her violently, drew her up the stairs until they 
had reached the narrow attic-passage, and commanding the 
negro to unlock the door that stood before them, forced her 
into the room, dismissed the servant, locked the door on the 
inside, and turned upon her. Elsie had dropped into an old 
flag-bottomed arm-chair, where she sat shivering with cold and 
fear. He turned upon that delicate and trembling girl fiercely, 
scornfully, triumphantly, tauntingly, as if she had been some 
rough male adversary in his power. He placed the key in his 
pocket, buttoned up his over-coat, and stood looking at her 
with a bitter, sarcastic laugh, saying, 

‘^You have insulted and provoked me sufliciently this 
evening. Miss G-arnet ! You were very happy and confident, 
an hour ago. What do you think of your prospects now 
Elsie shuddered and was silent. 

Can you escape from this room ? Will you jump from one 
of those windows and fall an hundred feet? Will your lover 
find a ladder long enough to reach you ? I think not. Can 
you break that lock ? I think not. Will you bribe your jailor ? 
I think not; for I shall be your jailor myself. No one else 
shall enter this room. And now listen to me,’’ and taking a 
chair, he sat down before her, and said in a hard, harsh voice, 
I do not care one jot for all the miserable, contemptible love 
sentiment in the world; I never did I I do not believe in it. 
I never did ! But that which I want, and that which I loill 
have, is the union of these two joining estates. Mount Calm 
Aud Hemlock Hollow. That project is as dear to old Mr 


ELSIE IN THE ATTIC. 


17T 

Hardcastle, as it is to me. It was for that reason, and not 
upon account of any trifling, mutual predilection of yours, that 
we were about to negotiate a marriage between my daughter 
and his nephew, when fortunately Lionel came home in time 
to arrest the execution of the plan ; of course it was perfectly 
easy to see what then became the duty of all parties.'^ 

Fidelity,’^ said Elsie in a low voice. 

General Garnet laughed tauntingly, and continued without 
further notice of her reply. 

The young man who was to inherit the estate was to have 
the bride. It mattered nothing to me whether that were 
Magnus or Lionel ; but the hand of my heiress was to be be- 
stowed upon the heir of Hemlock Hollow. That was the 
treaty. So I reminded old Mr. Hardcastle. He remembered 
that it really was so, and fully and entirely agreed with me. 
Young Lionel Hardcastle is also comformable. You only are 
contumacious. But I have pledged myself to your consent, 
and, by Heaven, you shall redeem my pledge. Listen, minion ! 
You never leave this room until you leave it as the wife of 
Lionel Hardcastle. Curious place for a marriage ceremony ! 
but, come, it does not matter; we can have the wedding 
afterwards. You were to be the wife of Doctor Hardcastle, 
as you very respectfully call him, on Thursday week. Ha ! 
ha ! ha ! Come, what do you think of your prospects of mar- 
rying him now V* 

Father, as far as my marriage with Dr. Hardcastle on 
Thursday week is concerned, my fate has gone out of my hands 
and into God’s ! I have no more to say about that.” 

^^Ha! ha! I should think not. Not quite so confident as 
you were an hour ago, hey ?” 

But, father, forgive me for reminding you that as far as 
marriage with any other person is concerned, that is entirely 
in my hands for refusal. Church and state very properly 
make the bride’s consent an indispensable preliminary to 
marriage, and even a vital part of the marriage ceremony 
And my consent can never be gained to marry Lionel.” 

Ha 1 my pretty piece of stubbornness, we shall see. Pray, 
do you know? have you ever the power of solitary im- 
prisonment, cold, and hunger, in bringing a contumacious girl 
to docility ?” 

Elsie^s face flushed, more for him than herself. 

He continued; 


178 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


^^For all those mighty engines can I spring upon you I 
And will I, by Satan and all his hosts 

Father, you may do that, and nature may faint and suc- 
cumb to their power. I am very strong, but those things you 
threaten me with may be stronger still. But, father, if ever 
I am left with strength enough to stand before the minister 
with Lionel Hardcastle by my side, when that minister shall 
ask me, whether I will promise to love, honour, and obey him 
till death, I shall answer, ^ No, I do not love him, I never didf 
I never shall. If I stand here to be married to him, it is to 
please my father, his father, and not myself ! And so I can- 
not tell a falsehood, far less vow one in God's presence about it. 
I love Dr. Hardcastle, to whom you all know that I have been 
long engaged. I always did love him, and always shall,' and 
then let the minister of God marry us, if he durst." 

With a furious oath he sprang upon her — seized her — the 
idea of strangling her upon the instant darted through his 
brain ; but he only shook her with frenzied violence, and 
holding her in his terrible grip, said, with a husky voice and 
ashen cheek, and gleaming eye. 

If you were to do so, girl, as God in Heaven hears me, I 
would kill you !" 

And she felt to the very core of her shuddering heart that 
he told the truth. Then he dropped her, and threw himself 
out of the room, leaving her there, half dead with cold and 
fright, in the miserably bleak attic, without a spark of fire or 
light, for the lamp had been blown out by the fury with which 
her father had banged the door. 


CRUELTY. 


179 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

CRUELTY A CHAMBER SCENE. 

Thou knowest not the meekness of love, 

How it suffers and yet can be still — 

How the calm on its surface may prove 

What sorrow the bosom may fill. — Mrs. Ellis. 

Early the next morning Mrs. Garnet — I suppose, reader, 
we must begin to call her Mrs. Garnet habitually, now that 
she is thirty-three years of age, and has, besides, a marriage- 
able daughter, although the delicate, girlish figure, and the 
roseate, girlish face, softly shaded by the amber-coloured ring- 
lets of the lady, still suggest the sweet, familiar name of 
Alice — Well, Mrs. Garnet arose softly, without awaking the 
General, and thrusting her small feet in wadded slippers, and 
drawing on her wadded dressing-gown, passed into her daugh- 
ters chamber, for the purpose of looking silently upon her 
while she slept, to see whether she bore the fatigue of the ball 
well. She went in softly, drew the curtains of the bedstead, 
and to her surprise, found that it had not been slept in. Her 
first thought, of course, was, that Elsie had remained all night 
at Point Pleasant. 

She felt disappointed, and returned immediately to her own 
jhamber, rang for her maid, and proceeded with her morning 
toilet. 

Her maid, Milly, entered, hearing on her arm the cloak 
md hood that Elsie had worn to Point Pleasant, and after- 
wards dropped, while being dragged through the passage. 
Mrs. Garnet gazed at her in fixed astonishment, saying. 

Why, where did you get those, Milly? Is it possible that 
your Miss Elsie has returned so early this morning ? Where 
is she 

. Miss Elsie returned last night, misses, and must have 
dropped these in the passage, for I found them there.^^ 


180 THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 

Returned last night ! her bed has not been occupied I 
Where is she?’' exclaimed Mrs. Garnet, dropping the long 
mass of golden curls that she had been twisting into a knot, 
and standing aghast with vague terror. Where is she ? 
What is the meaning of this ? Why do you look so strangely ? 
Oh, my God ! what has happened to my child ? Speak this 
moment, Milly ! What do you know of it ?” 

‘‘I thought you must a known, Miss Ally; Marster’s 
locked her up in the garret.” 

All the blood of the Chesters rushed to the brow of Alice, 
and crimsoned it. 

“ Locked Elsie up in the aftic !” she exclaimed — then, 
Give me the keys ! Where are they ? Bring me the keys 
instantly !” 

Please, Miss Ally, marster took the garret key off of the 
bunch, and put it in his pocket.” 

Leave me, Milly. Go ! Hasten ! Go down stairs ! I 
don’t want you this morning,” said Alice, conscious of 
having betrayed too much emotion in the presence of her 
servant. 

Milly left the room, and Alice hastened, with a flushed 
brow, and trembling hand, to the big arm-chair at the head of 
the bed, over the back of which hung the General’s clothing, 
that he had worn the night before. Alice searched all the 
pockets of the overcoat in vain. And she took up the dress 
coat. 

But while Alice was hunting for the key, the General had 
risen upon his elbow, and, unseen by her, was watching her 
motions with a demoniac leer. 

Alice searched all the pockets of the dress coat, and it was 
not there. Then she raised the vest, and in the pocket found 
the key. She seized it eagerly, and was about to fly off with 
it, when a heavy blow felled her to the floor ! The key drop- 
ped from her hand. General Garnet stooped and repossessed 
himself of it, and looking at her with a laughing devil in his 
eye, said, 

“ Oh ! was that i/ou P Excuse me, madam ! I beg ten thou- 
sand pardons ; but waking up suddenly, and seeing a hand in 
D'y pocket, I naturally enough supposed it to be that of a 
thief! It’s heaven’s mercy that I had not shot you ] y mis- 
take, my dear !” 

But seeing that she did not move, he leaned farther over 


CRUELTY. 


161 


the side of the bed, and perceived, that in falling, the hack of 
her head had struck the corner of the dressing-bureau, and 
that she was stunned by the concussion — stunned, or dead ! 
he did not know which. He jumped to the floor and raised 
her. Her head and limbs fell helplessly over his arms. He 
laid her on the bed, ran his fingers tlirough the golden tresses 
of her hair, but found no fracture ; there might be a concus- 
sion of the brain, but there was no outward sign. 

He started to the bell to ring it, but before he got there, 
changed his mind and returned — locked the door — went to 
the bureau, and taking a couple of linen handkerchiefs, tore 
them in strips, and took a lancet from his case — (all planters 
keep such things for the exigencies of the plantation.) He 
then went to the bedside, ripped up the sleeve of Alice’s dress, 
and baring the arm, opened a vein. As the blood began to 
flow first very sluggishly, then faster, she opened her eyes, 
and looked at him. He then bound up her arm, and telling 
her that he hoped this sharp lesson would teach her the danger 
of opposing his will again, left her, and proceeded to dress 
himself. 

Alice attempted to rise, but her head grew dizzy, her eyes 
dim, and she sank back at the same moment that he sternly 
bade her be still, and not venture to leave her bed that day. 
He dressed, and left the chamber. 

That morning General Garnet breakfasted alone. After 
breakfast he paid a visit to Elsie, found her sick with cold 
and loss of sleep, had a fire made in the room, a cot-bed and 
bedding conveyed there, and then some comfortable clothing 
and her breakfast. Then he locked the door, put the Key in 
his pocket, forbid all the house servants from going up to the 
attic upon any pretence whatever, under the severest penalties, 
and left the house for the day. Then Milly — you know Milly, 
reader, the girl who had waited on Alice’s mother — and was 
now Alice’s own maid — Milly poured out a cup of cofiee, and 
took a plate of toast and went up into her mistress’s room. 
Milly sat down in the big easy-chair by the side of the bed, 
and holding the little waiter in her lap, began to try to per- 
suade her mistress to take something. But Alice still shook 
her head in silent refusal. Milly then got up, and setting 
the waiter down upon the bureau, returned to the bedside, and 
looked at her prostrate mistress in fear. 

‘^Hear Miss Ally, what is the matter? What has hap- 


182 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


pened ? Oh, you do look so pale ! And your lips are so 
blue ! And, oh, my good Lord, your eyes are so, so heavy ’ 
Dearest Miss Ally, I must send for a doctor, Meed I rnust.'^^ 

No, no,’’ faltered Alice. 

Oh, indeed. Miss Ally, it ain’t no use to say no. I really 
must. You look like death. And your arm is tied up, too. 
G-ood gracious. Miss Ally, honey, is your arm hurt ? Miss 
Ally, honey, tell your old Aunt Milly what’s the matter. 
You knows I’se a faithful frien’ to you, if I is a poor slave 
nigger. Tell your ole Aunt Milly, honey. You know I’s a 
heap older and more ’sperienced than you. You know, honey, 
I nursed you when you was a little gal no more an so high. 
Is your arm hurted, honey ? Maybe it’s out o’ place ? Let 
me send for the doctor. Let me send right off for your 'wr. 
young Doctor Hardcastle now.” 

No, Milly ; no, my arm is not hurt, Milly. I — I /ell^ 
Milly, and struck my head, I think. General Garnet had the 
presence of mind to bleed me — and — perhaps that saved my 
life. Have you — have you seen your Miss Elsie this morn- 
ing ?” 

No, God knows. Miss Ally, I hasn’t, to my sorrow. 
Marster’s locked her up and gone off with the key (what a 
blessed thing it would be, my blessed Lord, if he would get 
his neck broke and never come back again,” said Milly to 
herself, and then continued aloud) — he forbid all us coloured 
people from going a near the child, or even going up the gar- 
ret steps, and said he’d sell the first nigger to Georgy as 
disobeyed him — but, in course. Miss Ally, if you tell us to go 
up we goes — let the quincequonces be what they may, cause 
we all come by the Chesters, and feels bound to sarve them, 
and none o’ the proud Garnets.” 

Milly, I’m sick ] don’t compel me to tell you again that 
you must not and shall not speak of your master in that man- 
ner. General Garnet is my husband and your master, and 
master of the house and the plantation. His orders must be 
literally obeyed by you all. As for Elsie, I must rise as soon 
as I can and visit her myself,” said Alice, and then she sunk 
into the silence of exhaustion. 

Milly employed herself for half an hour in putting the room 
to rights. At the end of that time, Alice called her, saying, 
‘‘Milly, I do not think, after all, tliht I shall be able to 
rise to day. Bring me a lead pencil from my writing-desk 


CRUELTY. 183 

and a sheet of paper, and a book to write on, and help me 
up.^^ 

Millj got the desired materials, and setting them before 
her mistress, placed her arms under her shoulders and raised 
her up. But Alice, as soon as she was lifted, turned deadly 
sick, her head grew giddy, her eyes filmed over, and she 
looked so much like fainting, that her alarmed maid laid her 
back again. 

“ I cannot do it, Milly, you may go. I wanted to write a 
note, but I cannot do it yet, Milly ; you may go,^^ at length 
she faltered. 

Again Milly besought permission to send for a physician ; 
but Mrs. Garnet shook her head in silent denial, and the 
maid, with many doubts and forebodings, retired. 

At noon, General Garnet returned and entered the room, 
and approaching the bedside, asked Alice how she felt. 

Only drowsy, inclined to sleep while lying down, but sick 
and dizzy, and blind when I attempt to rise.” 

If that be the case you must not, upon any account, yield 
to that inclination to sleep. It is dangerous ; you must rise 
and sit up.” 

I cannot — I wish I could — I cannot. I turn deadly sick 
as soon as my head is lifted.” 

Alice — I — I think I must bleed you again,” he said, taking 
out the lancet and baring her arm. Then he hesitated a mo- 
ment ; he doubted whether this second bleeding would be 
right, but he resolved to risk it rather than risk the exposure 
of their secret by sending for a physician. He opened the 
vein again, and while the blood was trickling, looked so full 
of solicitude, that Alice felt sorry for him, and said, 

Never mind; donH you know I knew it was an accident 
— the striking of my head against the bureau.” She now 
looked so much better again that he ventured to say, as he 
bound up her arm, 

I hope, Alice, that this will be a profitable lesson to you 
at least. Consider. You — ^you might have been killed.” 
Then he raised her in a sitting posture, propped pillows be- 
hind her, took a seat in the big chair, and said, ‘^This i? 
really a trifle as it turns out, Alice. This dizziness will soon 
pass away if you sit up. Only, I hope, as I said before, tha^ 
this will be a warning to you, for it might have been much 
more serious, or even fatal. It is dangerous, Alice, danger- 


184 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


ous to rebel either by stratagem or force against just authority. 
And, now listen, for I wish to talk to you of Elsie for two 
reasons — ^first, to keep you from falling into an injurious 
sleep ; and, secondly, to let you know my reason for confining 
I her, and my plans and purposes towards her/' 

And then General Garnet, for the first time, openly avowed 
to his wife his fixed determination to break off for ever the 
projected marriage between Magnus and Elsie, and to bestow 
the hand of the latter upon Lionel Hardcastle, giving her his 
reasons in full for doing so, and declaring his intention to 
keep Elsie confined until her consent was obtained, and to 
take her then from her room at once to the altar, that no de- 
ception might be practised. Alice dreaded lest he should ask 
her opinion, or her co-operation. Fortunately for her, he did 
not consider either of the least importance, and soon rising, 
left the room and went down to dinner. 

Alice pressed both hands to her head, and groaned forth the 
prayer — 

Oh, God ! guide me aright through this labyrinth of 
crossing duties, lest I lose my way !" 

In the afternoon. General Garnet went out again. 

And soon after he was gone, Milly entered her mistress's 
chamber, and put in her hand a little slip of paper, which she 
said Elsie had given her as she handed in her dinner. 

Alice took it eagerly. It was the fly-leaf of her pocket 
prayer-book, and on it was picked with a pin the sentence, 
Say something to me, beloved mother." 

Alice asked for a pencil, and wrote, 

“ To-inorrow I will write, dear child." And then the pen- 
cil dropped from her hand. Milly, when you take her 
supper up, give her that," she said, and closed her eyes from 
exhaustion. 


MARRIAGE. 


185 


CHAPTER XXV. 

MARRIAGE. 

Take ner, and be faithful still, 

And may the marriage vow 
Be sacred kept in after years, 

And fondly breathed as now. — O ld iSoNa. 

The next morning, after General Garnet had left the house 
—for me whole day — Alice arose, still dizzy and weak, not 
only from the effects of the blow, Wt from fasting and anxi- 
ety. She was scarcely seated in her chair, when a letter was 
brought her, that had come in the mail-bag from the post- 
ofl&ce. It was superscribed in the handwriting of Doctor Hard- 
castle. Alice tore it open, and read a much longer epistle 
than I can find space to transcribe here, reader; but the sum 
total of it was this : Magnus informed his friend Alice of what 
she already knew — General Garnet’s expressed determination 
to break the engagement existing between himself and Elsie, 
for mer<^ mercenary motives ; of his own and Elsie’s fixed resolu- 
tion to abide by their betrothal, and his hopes that their decision 
would meet her — Alice’s — approval. He told her of his wish 
that their marriage should take place on Thursday, as had 
been first proposed; and of his intention to depart on the 
following Monday, for his home, among the new settlements 
in the back-woods of Maryland. He told her, farther, that he 
had called the day before to see her and Elsie, but that he 
had been refused admittance at the very threshold, the servants 
adducing their master’s commands as their warrant. He had 
heard, he said, that Elsie was immured, but hoped and be- 
lieved that this was not so. He concluded by entreating Alice 
to write and inform him of her own and Elsie’s state of health 
and spirits, and advise him how to proceed. 

Alice folded the letter, clasped her hands, and closed her 
eyes a, moment in intense thought and prayer. Then, bidding 
Milly wheel her writing-table before her, she took pen and 
paper, and wrote the following short but important note : 


186 THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 

Dear Magnus : — As soon as you see this, go to a lock 
smith, and send him instantly to me. Then get a carriage, 
procure your license, call at Figs’s, to take up the young Me- 
thodist minister who boards there, and come at once to Mount 
Calm. Whsn you return, Elsie shall accompany you. 

Your friend, Axice Garnet. 

She sealed this note, despatched it, and then dropped her 
head into her hands, holding it tightly, as though to chain 
thought to its object. Then once more she drew her writing- 
desk nearer to her, took her pen, and wrote these hurried lines 
to Elsie : 

"Within a very few hours from this, my own dear Elsie, 
you will be released and married. And now let me tell you, 
my own dear child, my reasons for advising and aiding you in 
this step. It is not only, my Elsie, that your heart has long 
been given to Magnus ; that your hand has long been pledged 
to him with the approbation of both your parents ; that your 
happiness is concerned in being united to him ; that your 
honour is implicated in keeping faith with him ; — it is not, 
either, that it would be a heinous wickedness, to forsake your 
betrothed at the very moment that fortune forsakes him, and in 
the hour of his greatest adversity ; it is not that this very deser- 
tion of yours would shake his faith in all that is good and true 
in Heaven or on earth, palsy his energy and enterprise, and 
thus do him a serious moral and social injury. And, on the 
other hand, it is not that you do not love Lionel. No, Elsie ; 
it is simply because Magnus is entirely the better man of the 
two — better, incomparably better — physically, mentally, mo- 
rally, religiously. Magnus is healthful, strong, handsome, 
energetic, highly intellectual, purely moral, profoundly reli- 
gious; and he loves you completely. Lionel is broken in 
constitution, evidently by excess, indolent, selfish, voluptuous, 
yet irritable, and often violent. His interest in you is a low com- 
pound of vanity, cupidity, and sense — it would be false and pro- 
fane to call it by the sacred name of love. Magnus would make 
you better and happier, in loving you greatly, in elevating your 
moral and religious nature, while Lionel would draw you down 
to the misery and degradation of his own low nature, hly 
child, my one lone child, it is for this consideration that I bar 
you from wealth, luxury, ea«e, adulation, and give you to the 


MARRIAGE. 


187 


stern, -but kindly discipline of poverty, toil, and privation — ■ 
with love by your side, to lighten all your labours, and God 
above you, to reward them. May God love you, my only 
child ! my little Elsie 

No tear-drop blotted this paper, though hei^ tears had fallen 
thick, and fast, and blindingly, while she wrote it. She had 
turned her head away ; for no sign of sorrow should wound 
and weaken Elsie in the letter written to comfort and sustain 
he^. She had turned her head away, and the tears had rained 
upon her lap. Many times she had arisen from her writing- 
desk, and fallen, overcome with grief, upon the bed. But it 
was done. She had succeeded. And there was nothing upon 
the paper or in the letter to betray the anguish of mind in 
which it was written. 

Trying to steer as blamelessly as she could through her 
labyrinth of duties, Alice would not call one of the servants, 
all of whom had been expressly forbidden to approach the 
attic, but took the paper herself, went feebly up the stairs, 
and supporting herself by the balustrades, she reached the 
topmost landing, and went to the door of Elsie’s room. 

‘‘You are there, dear mother. I know your footstep so 
well, though it is weaker than usual. And if I did not know 
your footsteps, I should know your sigh. Bear mother, do 
not grieve for me. I am happy — reverently be it spoken — as 
Peter was in prison.” 

“ My darling Elsie, here is something I have written for 
you. I will push it under the bottom of the door. Take it, 
darling, read it. Try to compose your mind, and be ready for 
me very soon. I must go now, dear, for when you begin to 
read that, you will find that I have a great deal to prepare. 
Good-bye, for an hour, my dear.” 

Alice then went down, entered her chamber, and rang for 
Milly; then she went to her drawers and caskets, and got 
together all the jewelry that she possessed, to the amount of 
several thousand dollars, and all Elsie’s, that amounted to 
several thousand more, and placed them in one strong casket 
Then she searched her purse and pocket-book, and took out 
all the money she had in possession, a few hundred dollars, 
and put it in a strong packet. Then she sent Milly into 
Elsie’s vacant chamber, and had all her clothing collected and 
pa<3ked into two large, strong travelling trunks. Next, she 


188 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


sent for a man servant to come and lock and strap them do^d 
before her face. Lastly, she received the keys from him, and 
told him to procure assistance, take the trunks down, put 
them into a cart, carry them over to Huttontown, and leave 
them at Mr. Figs’s, with a request from her that he would 
keep them until they were called for. When Alice had done 
this, she was told that a man wished to see her in the hall. 

She went out, and found the locksmith with his tools. She 
bade him follow her, and led the way up into the attic, and to 
the door of Elsie’s prison. She stopped there, and turning to 
the locksmith, said. 

Pick this lock.” 

No sooner said than done. The man put in his instrument, 
and unlocked it with as much ease as though he had used a 
key. 

There, thank you, sir ! you need not open the door. 
Please to retire now. Milly, my girl, will settle with you 
down stairs,” said Alice, who did not by any means wish to 

reveal the secrets of that prison-house.” 

The man bowed, gathered his tools, and went down stairs. 

Alice opened the door, and was instantly locked in the 
arms of her daughter. Fearing to lose her courage and pre- 
sence of mind, perhaps trembling for the strength of her pur-' 
pose, too, Alice did not venture to indulge these enervating 
endearments, but hastened to say, 

‘‘You read and understood my note, my dear Elsie?” 

“Yes, mother.” 

“ You know, then, what is about to take place ?” 

“Yes, dear mother.” 

“Come, then, my child, we must be quick. I expeci 
Magnus here with the license and the minister every minute. 
Your trunks are already packed and sent off to Huttontown. 
Where are your diamonds, Elsie ? I did not see them among 
your jewelry. They are the greatest portion of your dower 
now, my child. Where are they ? I wish to put them into a 
casket that I have packed for you.” 

“ Here they are, mother, with the ball-dress in which I 
came to prison.” 

“Ah, that ball-dress, put that on, it will do as well as 
another ; or, no, you will perhaps have no time to change it 
afterwards. Come down into my room, and put on youi 


MARRIAGE. 


189 


travelling dress at once. I have left it out with your bonnet ; 
come, Elsie.'^ 

“If you please, ma’am. Doctor Hardcastle and Parson 
Wilson are down stairs, inquiring for you,” said a servant 
from the foot of the interdicted stairs. 

“ Invite them into the back parlour, and say that I will be 
with them in a few minutes,” said Alice. “Come, Elsie, 
hasten, dear, and let me dress you.” She drew Elsie down. 

She felt no weakness or dizziness now. She was upheld by 
a strange excitement. Her cheeks and lips seemed burning, 
and her eyes blazing as with a hectic fever. 

Arrived in her own chamber, she quickly assisted Elsie to 
put on her travelling dress, smoothing her beautiful auburn 
ringlets, pressed her again fondly to her bosom, tied on her 
little beaver bonnet, and led her down stairs into the back 
parlour, where Dr. Hardcastle and the minister sat. 

Both came forward, bowed, and shook hands. 

“ Oh ! for God’s sake have it over quickly, Magnus, lest 
my strength fail !” said Alice, trembling violently. 

The minister drew the prayer-book from his pocket and 
opened it. 

Elsie suddenly lost all vestige of colour, and threw herself 
again into her mother’s arms. Alice pressed her passionately 
to her heart a moment, and then gave her up to Magnus, who 
took her hand, passed his arm around her waist to support her, 
and stood before the minister. 

In ten more minutes, Magnus Hardcastle had the joy of 
elapsing his wife to his bosom. 

“ Thank Heaven that it is over. Oh-Ti-h! UgJi-gJi-Ti! lieli 
my flesh creeping all the time as if father were peeping over 
my shoulder,” exclaimed Elsie, shuddering, and burying her 
head under the arm of Magnus. 

“ Yes, thank Heaven, it is over ! It was short. A few 
solemn words of exhortation, a brief prayer, a briefer benedic- 
tion, and now I possess you, without a doubt, or dispute — 
entirely — the laws of God and man give you to me alike, and 
no power under Heaven can tear you from me, my own Elsie I 
my own wife !” said Magnus, fervently, and almost crushing 
her in his arms. 

“ Yes, thank Heaven it is over ! The doubt, the struggle, 
and the fear is over. You are safe, Elsie. Your happinessj, 
as far as human foresight can secure it, is insured,” said 
12 


190 THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 

Alice, as she received Elsie once more from the arms of Mag* 
nus, and folded her in her own. 

But you ! Oh, my dear mother ! you will be left without 
your child 

“Never regret me, my own darling. You go without your 
mother, but you go with your husband, and you are happy. 
Are you not, my Elsie 

“ Oh ! yes, yes, mamma.^^ ^ 

“ Well, I am left without my daughter, but I remain with 
my husband. Think that I am happy also,^’ said Alice, feel- 
ing thankful to Providence from the bottom of her heart, that 
Elsie was “ innocent of the knowledge'^ of Greneral G-arnet’s 
tyranny over herself. 

Yet Elsie half suspected, she knew not what. She looked 
deeply, searchingly for an instant into her mother’s dark, 
blue eyes, as if to read the secret of the deep sorrow in them. 

But Alice dropped her long lashes, and averted her head. 

Then Elsie took her hand, and bending round to look into 
her troubled face, said, slowly, earnestly, tearfully, 

“You love my father dearly, very dearly; don’t you, 
mamma ? Say, don’t you, mamma ? Oh ! don’t you, mamma ?” 

“ Yes, Elsie, I love him,” said Alice, in a very low voice, 
turning again to her daughter. 

“ Oh, mamma, you love him as well as I love Magnus ! 
Don’t you, mamma? Don’t you? You love him better than 
you love me, and you will be very happy with him even 
when I am gone ? Say, mamma ! Oh ! tell me before I go.” 

For an answer, Alice stooped and kissed her daughter on 
the forehead. 

“ But oh I tell me before I go ! Tell me, that you love my 
father better than you love me, and that you will be very 
happy with him when I am gone,” said Elsie, growing more 
anxious for an answer every instant. 

Alice turned very pale. 

And Magnus, who saw that she was fast losing her self- 
control, came to her relief, by saying, as he approached, took 
her hand, and drew her off, 

“I have a word to say to you, if you please, Mrs. Gar- 
net.” 

They went to a window, leaving Elsie near the parson. 

“ Mrs. Garnet I Cousin Alice ! Dearest friend ! I have a 
proposal to make to you that must surprise and may shock 


MARRIAGE. 


191 


and offend you. But nevertheless, I make it. Listen to me, 
Alice. I know too well what you have risked for us, and 
what you have incurred at the hands of your husband this 
day ! Alice ! I fear — I tremble at the thought of leaving 
you here alone, and exposed to his terrible wrath. You — 
But Alice raised her hand and gently arrested his speech. 

Magnus, forgive me for reminding you that you should 
not talk to me in that way. General Garnet’s displeasure, as 
far as I am implicated, will perhaps he just. You and Elsie 
were right. Your faith was pledged with his consent. You 
were right in redeeming your mutual pledge. But I, perhaps, 
was wrong in assisting you in it. I do not clearly know. Oh, 
Magnus ! for many years my ideas of right and wrong have 
been very much confused. For many years I have lost sight 
of the exact line that divides good and evil. Oh ! Magnus, 
when the eyes are dimmed with tears, the sight is not very 
clear — and when the soul is drowned in grief, Magnus, the 
moral vision may be very much obscured ! But this I know 
— that General Garnet’s anger — just or unjust, moderate or 
violent — I must meet^ and meet alone. By all means alone / 
The dignity of both is concerned in that.” 

Alice, you must not ! Hear me ! Listen to me ! Do 
not turn away with that air of gentle self-respect, and wave 
me off! Don’t t know that your heart is breaking this mo- 
ment — this moment, that your child is leaving you, and you 
are left desolate and exposed to danger 1 Desolate, wretched, 
in peril, though you would have her to believe otherwise ? 
Oh, Alice I you may deceive the child of your bosom, but you 
will not deceive the boy who sat at your feet and loved you, 
and studies the mystery of the sorrow on your brow when you 
came home a bride, and everybody called you happy. I was 
not deceived then, I have not been deceived since. Oh, Alice ! 
my love for Elsie, my love for you, my relation towards both, 
give me the right to feel, the right to speak and advise. Hear 
me : You must not remain here to meet the anger of your 
husband. Your life — ^your life will be endangered. Nay ! 
do not lift your hand to stop my speech ; hear my plan, hear 
me out — I will be very brief. Listen ! You love Elsie and me 
Go with us when we leave here. Go with us to our backwoods 
home. Our home will be humble, but full of peace and love, 
and the repose you so much need. We shall be poor, but you 
ihall not feel it Respectful and loving hands will wait on 


192 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER 


you all day long. You will be happy with us. Remain with 
us till the storm blows over. There need be — there would be 
— no exposure, no gossip, no scandal. To the neighbours who 
knew of our betrothal, our marriage and departure will seem 
perfectly natural, only rather unsocial because we did not give 
a wedding. And I can answer for the discretion and fidelity 
of Wilson. Your accompanying us, for a visit, will seem 
nothing unusual. Greneral Garnet, if I mistake not, is too 
much a man of the world not to keep his own secret, and too 
much of a despot not to enforce silence upon his people, in 
regard to this matter. General Garnet will be very anxious 
to get you back before your visit is prolonged to a suspicious 
extent. And then, Alice, while you are safe with us, you can 
make your own conditions with him for your return. You 
can secure for yourself — ” 

Stop ! Magnus, I did not wish to mar the harmony of 
this sad hour by one dissonant word or thought or feeling. 
But let me hear no more of this. Not one breath more, dear.- 
est Magnus. What ! I leave my home ! leave my husband, 
and remain away to make conditions with him ! — /, who un- 
conditionally pledged myself to him ^ for better or worse ’ — /, 
who vowed love, honour, and obedience to him ‘ until death^ ! 
No, Magnus. That marriage vow, in all its ><101^118, is not to 
be tampered with. It is not a question of happiness, or of 
peace, or of expediency, or of repose, or of affection, but simply 
of DUTY. No, Magnus. When I hastened to bestow my 
daughter upon you, it was because I believed you to be one 
towards whom it would be a happiness as well as duty, to keep 
fiacred, in all its minutiae, that marriage vow.’^ 

Alice ! dearest Alice ! your heart is very mournful, and, 
forgive me for saying it — very morbid.’^ 

Is it ? Call Elsie, then. Her feelings are all singularly 
healthful. Call her, and in her presence just invite me to go 
with you, simply to go with you — that will be the mildest form 
of your proposal, and see what Elsie will say. Come, do so.^^ 

Magnus turned with a smile, and beckoned Elsie to ap- 
proach. Elsie came, with her bright face beaming with interest 
and inquiry. 

‘‘Elsie, my love,^^ said Magnus, “I have been trying to 
persuade your mother to accompany us to our new home, and 
remain there for a few weeks.^^ 

“And leave father so suddenly, when I am leaving him, 


MARRIAGE. 


193 


too ! Oh; dc nH press her to do any such thing, dear Magnus. 
Oh, don’t think of leaving father just now, dearest mother/' 
said Elsie, earnestly ; then throwing herself in her mother’s 
arms, whispered, anxiously, “ Mother, don’t you love father ? 
— oh, mother, tell me, before I go, that you love father.” 

Yes, Elsie, I do love him. No, Magnus, I cannot leave 
him. I have helped to bereave him of his child for a season, 
— I cannot leave him.” 

But, oh, Alice !” said Magnus, drawing her apart, think 
again, think what you will meet. IIow can you brave his 
anger ?’ 

“ I shall not hrave it, Magnus. It may be just, coming 
from him. At least I must bear it — -patiently too” 

Just then the door was burst open by a servant, who ex- 
claimed, in affright. 

Madam ! — Mistress ! — Doctor ! — Miss Elsie ! Marster is 
a riding down the road, post haste, to the house !” 

Oh, my God ! there is not a moment to spare. Good-bye, 
my beloved child. God bless you !” said Alice, straining her 
daughter to her bosom. 

Oh, mother ! don’t you love father dearly ? Tell me once 
more.” 

^^Y'es, yes, Elsie.”' 

Oh, mother, if you love him so dearly, get my pardon 
from him. Tell him how I grieve to be under the necessity 
of offending him. Get my pardon for me, beloved mother.” 

I will do my very best. God bless you, my darling child ! 
Good-bye ! Oh, Magnus, be good to her, be merciful, be lov- 
ing, be tender. Oh, Magnus, I have torn the heart from my 
bosom, and given it to you. Be good to her.” 

^^May God deal by my soul as I deal by her heart !” said 
Magnus, folding his mother-in-law in a fervent embrace. 

Then they hurried out, hastened into the carriage, the 
blinds were let down, the doors closed, the whip cracked, and 
the vehicle r">lled away. 


194 


THE Dlt^CARDED DAUGHTER. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

<^THE HEART OVERTASKED.^' 

Oh, break, break, heart ! poor bankrupt, break at once I 

To prison, soul ! Ne’er hope for liberty ! — Shakspearb. 

Oh ! do whate’er thou wilt ! I will be silent. 

Joanna Baillh 

There comes a time in tte life of every one, perhaps, wLec 
all that the soul most ardently desired, most eagerly pursued, 
IS no longer coveted; when not joy, not success, not fame, nor 
wealth, nor rank, nor power, not even love, friendship, or 
sympathy, is longed for, but only — rest ; to get away from the 
terrible struggle of life, from the glare of the world, to find 
some far-off", quiet spot, cool, and calm, and dark, where to lie 
down and — rest; when the heart and brain, soul and spirit, 
overtasked and very weary, would willingly lay down their 
arms, and capitulate to Destiny, giving up the future, with all 
its wealth of hopes and possibilities, for rest — only rest — the 
rest even of the quiet grave. So felt Alice, as she turned 
from the last glimpse of the vanishing carriage, and entered 
her desolate dwelling. Very willingly would she have gone 
to her darkened chamber, and lain down with her sorrow 
there, but she felt no such interval of repose, no such luxury 
of grief was permitted her ; feeble and weary as she was, she 
must turn and meet General Garnet in his roused wrath. She 
dropped exhausted upon one of the settees in the hall, and 
waited for him there. 

Oh ! in such an hour, when Hope and Faith have left us 
wounded, bruised, and fainting, on the battle-field of life, we 
need indeed an angel to come and strengthen us, and lift us 
again to recommence the struggle that can end victoriously 
only at the gates of Heaven. 

And angels do come and strengthen us, in many a guise, 
unrecognised perhaps, but they do come. 

It was in breathing these loving words of Jesus into her 
spirit, that the angel visited Alice in hey dark hour — Come 
unto Me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will 


“THE HEART OVERTASKED.” 19^5 

give you — rest.” And the life of love and faith was once 
more breathed into her soul, and she, who had sunk down 
there pale, exhausted, despairing, after a little while lifted up 
her face, serenely radiant with faith. 

She heard an advancing step. She looked around. 

Milly stood at her side. 

“Where is your master? did he enter by the back gate? 
is he at the. stables?’^ she inquired. 

“ Miss Alice, no, ma’am ; he didn’t come home at all. He 
didn’t even meet the carriage. He turned off ’fore he got to 
the porter’s lodge, and rode hard as he could down the path 
as leads down the Hollow. I ’spects how he had some ’litical 
business long o’ Mr. Hard’stle.” 

“ Oh ! thank Heaven !” said Alice, with a long-drawn sigh 
of relief, and rising, she hurried off to her own chamber. 
Not to sit down in faithless despair, but to write a letter to 
(reneral Garnet, softly and meekly breaking to him the news 
of their daughter’s marriage, so that the first shock of astonish- 
ment and rage should be over before he should come home, 
and she should have to meet him. She wrote this letter. It 
contained all that she had said in her letter to Elsie, and much 
more ; besides, a meek, appealing spirit pervaded it, that few 
hearts could have resisted. She despatched it by a servant to 
General Garnet, at Hemlock Hollow. Then she lay down 
and tried to sleep. 

She was disturbed by the entrance of a servant bearing a 
letter. 

She raised up and took it. It was for General Garnet, and 
bore the post-mark of Huttontown. She regarded it atten- 
tively for an instant, for it was written in a coarse, school-boy- 
like hand. 

Then she placed it on the dressing-table, and, dismissing the 
servant, lay down and closed her eyes again, with an effort to 
sleep. She could not do so for a long time. Emotion was 
busy in her heart, and thought in her brain. One, two, three 
hours passed ; and then she prayed, prayed for the promised — 
rest, and praying, fell asleep. 

She did not know how long she had slept, when, waking, 
she perceived General Garnet in the room. 

He was sitting in the large arm-chair, near the bed, and his 
attention riveted upon a letter that he was reading. Alice 
glanced at the dressing-table. The letter she had placed theru 


196 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


was gone. Yes, it was that letter which he was reading with 
such fixed interest. 

Alice lay quietly, yet anxiously watching him, until he 
finished reading, folded up the letter, and put it in his pocket. 
His attitude was one of deep, even intense thought. In the 
crimson twilight of that closely-curtained chamber, she could 
not see the expression of his face. It was evident, she thought, 
that he had not seen her in the shadowy recess where her sofa 
stood. 

After thus watching a moment, breathing a prayer for mer- 
cy, she slowly arose, slowly crossed the room, sank upon the 
cushion near his feet, took his hand, and looked up pleadingly 
into his face. 

Alice was still a very beautiful woman, as I have told you, 
and never was a more beautiful picture than that kneeling 
figure, with the bright flowing hair, flushed cheek, and up- 
turned, pleading gaze with which she sought silently to depre- 
cate the anger of her husband. She sought to read her fate 
in his countenance ) but that high and haughty face was lifted 
and averted, and its features were stern, and calm, and im- 
passible. Then she found words to speak, and inquired, 
softly, 

You received my letter, Gleneral Glarnet 

^‘Yes, madam, I received your letter,^^ he answered, in a 
hard, cold tone of voice. 

Then you know what else I should tell you here at your 

“ I know that my daughter has eloped, and that my wife 
helped her ofi*,^^ he replied, in the same dry tone, and with his 
head still averted. 

Alice could not see that his lips were bloodless and com- 
pressed, and his eyes burning with a fearful, lurid glare. His 
very quietude, hard, and dry, and constrained, as it was, de- 
ceived her. She took his hand again and pressed it to her 
lips, and held it to her bosom, murmuring softly, 

Let us forgive each other ! Oh ! my husband, let us for- 
give each other ! For many wrongs there is positively no 
other remedy in the wide universe but simple forgiveness — 
simple, magnanimous, sublime forgiveness. ^ It is impossible 
but that offences will come,^ said the most merciful of all be- 
ings. It is impossible, says the experience of life, it is im- 
possible, but that disappointments, sorrows, pains, partings 
will come. They are the conditions of our existence. 


“the heart overtasked.” 197 

t mnot escape them. Let us lessen their bitterness as much 
art we may. It is impossible but that troubles will comey but 
tue vital question is, whether we shall turn them to good or 
evil account — whether we shall live to any good end or not. 
Ofi, my husband ! make friends with me ! We have only each 
OTfier in the wide world upon whom to depend for our life’s 
comfort and happiness. Make friends with me !” 

She paused, covering his hand with fond caresses, pressing 
it to her lips, laying it against her cheek, holding it to her 
throbbing heart. He drew his hand from her gentle clasp, 
and folded his arms. 

Alice sank back, sobbing — sobbing, as though her heart 
Would burst — then suddenly she clasped his knees, exclaiming 
wildly : Can we hate each other — you and I who have lived 

so many years together ? Can we hate each other — ^you and I 
who love our only child, our dear Elsie, so much ? Make 
friends with me ! Let us understand each other ! Let us be 
candid with each other ! Let us forbear each other ! I know 
that you deeply regret the failure of your favourite plan to 
unite these estates. I know it ; I am sorry for it ; sorry that 
I have been constrained to have a hand in it. But, oh I 
G-eneral Grarnet, I, too, you know, was once — long years 
ago — bitterly disappointed ! terribly disappointed ! But it is 
all over now ; it has all been over many years ago ! And 
this is what I have often wanted to tell you, when I saw, by 
the cold, dark shadow on your brow, that you thought your- 
self unloved. But I never could approach you near enough to 
tell you — to tell you that if you would look into my heart, 
you would see it filled with the love of Grod, of my husband, 
and my child. Oh, Aaron ! let us forget all that estranged us 
in the dreary past, and see if we cannot live a better and hap- 
pier life in the future ! At least we can be kind, candid, ‘for- 
bearing with each other. Think how long we may have to 
travel the rough road of mortal life side by side ! We are not 
old — ^you and I, Aaron! You are not forty -five, and I am 
much younger. People healthful as we are, usually live to tlie 
age of eighty and beyond it. Think how many years we may 
have to live together ! Shall we, through all these years, be 
unloving, cold, estranged, suspicious, uncharitable each to the 
other ? Think how many years of our life we have already 
wasted in coolness, strangeness, misunderstandings 1 Think 
how many yet remain ! Shall we not live the rest in mutual 
f:)rbearance, candour, benevolence ? Make friends with me 1 


198 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


Let us comprehend each other ! Dear Aaron, I have opened 
my heart to you : give me your confidence V' She ceased, 
half turned, to gaze up in his face — his head was quite avert- 
ed — had he relented ? She thought so. She suddenly, impul- 
sively arose, threw her arms around his neck and bent her lips 
to kiss him, repeating softly — “ Dearest Aaron, make friends 
with me ! Give me your confidence 

He sprang up, and with one dash of his strong arm threw 
her from him ; exclaiming — 

‘‘ Off, traitress ! Off, serpent ! Viper P* 

She tottered and fell among the cushions of a low lounge, 
exhausted, pale, and shuddering. 

He gazed at her with flashing eyes and darkening brow, and 
white and writhen lips ; and the long restrained passion broke 
out in a torrent of invective. Shaking his clenched fist at her, 
he exclaimed, 

“ How dare you talk to me of confidence, traitress that you 
are ! How durst you even approach me ! serpent ! viper ! 
after your black treachery ! What do you mean by braving 
me ? Are you enamoured of a broken head ? Or do you think 
your own too hard to be broken ? At what do you value your 
life, pray ? What hinders me now from strangling you ? Why 
didn’t you fly with your hopeful daughter? Don’t you expect 
me to hurl you out of doors after her ? How durst you cross 
my path after your treachery ? Viper ! answer me, I say !’^ 
he vociferated, striding towards the lounge, grasping her 
shoulder, and jerking her to her feet before him — Answer 1 
How dared you face me after your black treachery ?” 

“ It was no treachery,” answered Alice, pale and trembling, 
yet with a certain, gentle dignity in her words and tone “ It 
was no treachery ; I broke no promise ; I betrayed no trust ; 
I am incapable of doing either.” 

‘‘ Silence, traitress !” he thundered, shaking her furi- 
ously ; I do not ask you for any impudent falsehood ; I will 
not, by Heaven, permit you to tell me one ! I ask you how 
you dared to meet me here ?” 

‘‘ Oh-h-h!” sighed Alice, suddenly sinking at his feet, ^^II 
was to return to my allegiance ; at whatever personal risk, to 
yield myself to you ; to abide henceforth by my duties. And 
oh. General Garnet, do not misunderstand me ! If I have 
humbled myself before you — vainly, perhaps, it is not from 
so base a motive as fear ! Oh, I have outlived and outsufier- 
cd the fear of pain — the fear of death — the fear of anything 


199 


“the heart overtasked.” 

that might befall me ! If I am at your feet — if I have placed 
myself unconditionally in your hands, it is for the sake of the 
holiest principles, the most sacred duties ! General Garnet, 
you believe me ; I see that you do ! General Garnet, listen to 
me farther : this is positively the first time in our married 
life of seventeen years, that I ever opposed you/^ 

‘‘ The first time that you ever successfully opposed me, 
madam ; and by Heaven, you have made a signal beginning 
commented General Garnet, no longer speaking in a furious 
voice, but in the dry, hard, stern tone, and fixed, inflexible 
brow with which he had, in the beginning of their interview, 
heard and replied to her gentle words. The burst of violent 
passion had passed sway and left him — the hard, scornful, sar- 
castic — yet cool, calculating, dissembling, most dangerous man 
that he was before. 

Alice gazed up at his face, seeking to read the changed 
expression there ; but it passed her skill, and she murmured, 
slowly, 

‘‘ Perhaps I was wrong ; I know that under other circum- 
stances it would have been very wrong; yet I dare not say 
that I regret what I did, for under the same circumstances, I 
should do it again. Not to obtain your forgi\oness would I 
deceive you, though to obtain it would make mo comparatively 
happy; but I deeply regret that anyth!ng I had a hand in 
should give you pain : And I say, do as you please, I shall 
not complain, I cannot. From the one revolt of my whole 
life, I return to a full and unconditional allegiance ; there is 
nothing farther to disturb it ; nothing to draw me aside. My 
love for ray child only did it ; that cannot move me again.” 
Ha ! can it not V’ he asked, scornfully. 

“ No ! no, indeed it cannot I” 

Never 

•• Never ! How can my love for Elsie ever again draw me 
aside from you? Elsie is married and gone; now I have only 
you ; my duty is undivided — and oh ! if you would let me, I 
would try to make you so happy !” 

Would you?” he asked, doubtfully, scornfully. 

Yes, I would,” she said, suddenly rising, leaning her hand 
upon his arm, and her head upon his shoulder, with the con- 
fidence of perfect love and faith. Oh, Aaron, you have not 
been yourself for a few days past. Yet I do not love you tho 
less on that account; indeed I do not. Ob, Aaron, I can 
excuse your violence more than you can excuse yourself, I 


n 


200 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


know ; for I have been used to it in others. Mj father was 
violent, sometimes. And I know that anger is a brief intoxi- 
cation — ‘ a short madness’ in which people do and say what 
they never intended. Come, you are not angry now ; you are 
smiling; and I — I can only repeat what I said in the begin- 
ning, ‘ Let us forgive each other, and live better and happier 
all our future lives.’ That is right — put your arm around me, 
dear Aaron, for I am very weak.” 

It was scarcely in human nature, or in devil nature, to resist 
the charm of her winning beauty, gentleness, and meekness. 
Gieneral G-arnet pressed a passionate kiss upon her lips, and 
clasped her to his heart. It was the first kiss of many, many 
years; and Alice, trembling, happy, with her blushing face 
hidden on his bosom, saw not the ^Gaughing devil in his 
eye.” 

Oh, Aaron, this is generous — this is magnanimous. Oh, 
Aaron, if you knew how the simple act of forgiveness has 
power to bind the human heart ! I know it by the way it 
draws my heart to yours,” said Alice, with enthusiasm. 

But another and a more passionate kiss sealed her lips for 
a time. 

At last she said — 

My friend, how has it been with you this long, long time ? 
I mean how has it been with your heart and soul, your inner 
life ? Have you been happy — have you had any great life 
purpose? Oh, Aaron, often, when I have watched you in 
your daily life, as you walked, or rode, or drove ; as you sat at 
table, or at your writing-desk, or settled business with your 
overseer, or agents ; or jested or told anecdotes among your 
friends ; when you have seemed to live lightly on the outside 
of things, I have longed to ask you, ^ How is it with you — is 
this reality — and is this all of your life — and are you con- 
tented with it — are you happy V And when I have seen you 
sit, or stand, or walk apart, silent, moody, abstracted, retired 
into yourself, I have longed to knock at your heart’s door, to 
be let in, too — to be let into your confidence, and to give you 
my sympathy, but I dared never to do so. It has taken the 
grief and passion of this hour to enable me to do so now. 
But this shall never be so again — shall it? We shall never 
be such strangers to each other again ? Come, tell me now- - 
‘low is it with you — are you happy ?” 


“the heart overtasked.” 201 

“ And do you truly love me — a little ? Oh, love me— only 
love me I” 

“ Love you ! — that is not so difficult, Alice. You are still 
a very lovely woman. 

“ Will you let me deliver Elsie’s last message to you ?” 

He quickly averted his face to hide the dark cloud that 
overswept it, while he answered, 

I will hear it.” 

Elsie’s parting words to me were, ^ Oh, mother, you love 
my father very dearly, do you not?’ I answered, ^ Yes.’ 
She replied, ^ Oh, if you love him, mother, win my pardon 
from him !’ Aaron, look on me. Father, forgive your child, 
for loving her husband as much as her mother loves thee.” 

Alice,” he said, drawing her again to his bosom and kiss- 
ing her, ^Hhis seals ^our full pardon; be content; for the 
rest, give me time.” 

Oh, if I could persuade you to forgive poor Elsie — who 
only needs her father’s pardon and blessing to be perfectly 
happy in her humble state.” 

‘‘Alice, if Elsie were before me, as you are, in all your 
beauty, perhaps I could not choose but be reconciled with he» 
as with youj my lovely Alice,” 

Alice was so unused to praise from him, that these words 
and caresses were beginning to embarrass her. Blushing like 
a very girl, she withdrew herself from his arms, and sat down. 
Then, as fearing to have offended, she said, 

“ Do not think me ungrateful. Test my sincerity in any 
way you please.” 

“ In any way, Alice ?” he asked, significantly. 

“ Yes. Try me — test me.” 

“ Pause — think — in any way ?” 

“ In anything and everything will I obey you, that does not 
transgress the laws of God, I mean, of course.” 

“ Ah, that to begin with, is one very broad and compre- 
hensive exception — especially if you design to give it a very 
liberal and latitudinarian interpretation. And it implies, 
besides, a suspicion and a guard against my giving you any 
command which, to obey, would be to transgress the laws of 
God. Do you really suppose that I am capable of doing riuch 
a thing, Alice?” 

— oh, no. Only you pressed me for an exception, yon 
kno'v, and I gave you the only one I thought of.” 


202 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


am satisfied with your exception, Alice. But is that 
really the only exception to your vow of compliance 
Yes, indeed j the only one.^' 

“ Reflect — you may find another.^' 

^‘No, indeed, no.’^ 

“No? — what is the dearest wish of your heart, now, 
Alice ?’' 

“ For peace — for perfect family peace and perfect Christian 
love.^^ 

“Thanks, Alice. ^Almost thou persuadcst me to he a 
Christian.' But is there no secret, darling thought that 
hovers around Magnus and Elsie ?" 

Alice suddenly turned very pale. Her hands flew up plead- 
ingly, and involuntarily she cried, in a voice of anguish — 

“ Oh, for the loving Saviour’s sake, do not require me to 
renounce Elsie I” 

“ if I did, would you do so, Alice?" 

She was silent, with her head bowed upon her clasped 
hands. 

He looked at her and smiled sardonically, saying, 

“ I knew it — another exception ! How many would follow 
this, I wonder ? But be easy, Alice. I do not require you 
to renounce your daughter. Far be that from me. Hold her 
as closely to your heart as you wish. Nothing but nervous- 
ness could have put that thought into your head. Have I not 
said that even 7 might be brought to forgive Elsie ? Pshaw, 
dear Alice, 1 only wished to prove to you how really vain 
were all your promises." 

“No, they are not !" exclaimed Alice, earnestly, energetically 
“ You have reconciled yourself to me when I least hoped and 
expected it, and I will do anything to prove how glad I am — 
anything except renounce Elsie, or fail in my higher duty to 
Heaven. Oh, do not close your half-opened heart to me again. 
Try me." 

“ Good ! I will put your sincerity to one more test. And 
woe to both if that third test should prove you faithless." 

“ It shall not — it shall not !" said Alice, solemnly. “ All 
our future confidence and peace depends on it, and it shall 
not fail, so help me Heaven. What is it ?’' 

“You shall soon see, Alice," replied General Garnet, rising, 
and preparing to leave the room. “ Where are they now ? — 
I mean Dr. Hardcastle and his wife." 

I believe they are at the hotel at Huttontown, where they 


203 


^THB HEART OVERTASKED.*’ 

to remain for a few days — if you do not bring them 
back here. Oh, Oeneral Garnet, if you would pardon them— 
if you would bring them' back here to live with us — how happ} 
we should all be — oh, how happy we should all be the long 
future years ! No more partings — no more tears. Our child- 
ren and grandchildren would be with us all through life. 
Magnus could practise his profession, and be of such inesti- 
mable value besides, in your political plans, and such com- 
pany for you at home. And Elsie would -be such a comfort to 
me. We should all be so happy! Come, bring them back 
with you. Ah, do. Let us have them with us, all recon- 
ciled, around the table to-night — and it will be the happiest 
family gathering that ever was held. Oh, I see you smile, 
and I know you will bring them back — will you not said 
Alice, suddenly seizing his hand, and gazing eloquently, be- 
seechingly into his face. 

We shall see, Alice — I will tell you more about that when 
I return,^^ he said, with one of his charming smiles, and shaking 
her hand cheerfully, opened the door and went out. 

Oh, yes — I do believe he will bring them back with him. 
Ah, no father can harden his heart against his child. Yes, 
jres, I am sure he will bring them back !’’ she repeated, seek 
mg to still the anxiety that was torturing her breast. 


m 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

THE wife’s trust. 

I know not, I aak not if guilt’s in that heart, 

But I know that I love thee, whatever thou art.” 

Moorb. 

The sun was going down, when a servant entered the cham- 
ber, and announced that Judge Wylie was below stairs, and 
begged to see Mrs. Grarnet alone upon important business. 

Telling the man to show Judge Wylie into the library, 
Alice threw a shawl around her, and, full of vague and pain- 
ful misgivings, descended the stairs. 

What could be the important business upon which Judge 
Wylie came ? What business, trifling or important, could ho 
have with her ? Had any accident happened to Elsie ? The 
thought gripped her heart like a vice. Had anything hap- 
pened to Magnus or G-eneral Garnet ? 

Trembling and pale, and almost overwhelmed by the trials 
of the day, she opened the libra^^y door, and tottered in. 

Judge Wylie was standing there awaiting her. Judge 
Jacky’s usually jubilant face was now overcast and troubled 
as he advanced to meet Alice, took her hand, led her to a 
settee, and seated himself beside her. He pressed her hand 
with paternal kindness, and said, gravely and gently. 

My dear Mrs. Garnet, you will pardon the liberty about 
to be taken by your oldest friend.’’ 

For Heaven’s sake — what has — ” happenedy she was about 
to ask, but the words died on her pale lips. 

Do not be alarmed, my dear Mrs. Garnet. Nothing has 
occurred since the marriage — ^you perceive that I know all 
about it. But it is to warn you — to put you upon your guard 
against something about to occur, that I come to you this 
evening.” 

For God’s sake — what ? what ?” 

^^Be easy. Nothing that you have not in your full power 
to avert, by a little firmness.” 


THE wife’s trust. 


205 


For Heaven’s sake explain yourself, Judge Wylie.” 

You know something, I presume, of the Maryland laws 
of property, of inheritance, and of marriage ?” 

‘‘ No — ^no — know nothing about it.” 

At least you know that when a girl marries, all the per- 
sonal property she may be possessed of at the time of her 
marriage, or may afterwards inherit, becomes the property of 
her husband ?” 

Yes, of course I know that.” 

^‘Yes — ^but — luten. All the landed property she pos- 
sesses at the time of her marriage, or afterwards inherits, is 
hers — hers alone. Her husband can neither alienate it during 
his life, or will it at his death. He cannot mortgage it, nor 
assign it — -nor can it be taken for his debts. It is hers^ and 
hers alone. She alone has the disposal of it.” 

^^Yes. Well?” 

— Therefore! — All the personal property you became 
possessed of at the death of your father, is the property of 
General Aaron Garnet.” 

^‘Certainly. Who disputes it? Well?” 

But ! And now listen ! All the landed property, con- 
sisting of six thousand acres of the best land on the Western 
Shore, which you inherited from your father, is yours, your 
own, and at your death it is your daughter’s, if she survive 
you, and unless you choose to will it to some one else. Gene- 
ral Garnet can make no disposition of it either during your 
life or at your death.” 

“ It seems to me. Judge Wylie, that this conversation is a 
very singular one,” said Alice, coldly. 

Not so singular or so impertinent — that is what you mean 
— as it appears to be. Bear with me. Hear me out. I 
speak for your good, and your child’s good. I have before 
me now the face of your sainted mother. I loved her in my 
youth, Alice ; but that is neither here nor there — ^nor any- 
where else, as Useless says. Well ! This is what I had to 
say. Your daughter Elsie has, by her marriage, grievously 
offended her father. He may or may not pardon her. He 
may discard her. Do not put it in his power to disinherit 
her.” 

Alice turned very pale. 

Why do you say that to me ?” she asked, falteringly. 

Because,’^ he answered, ‘^it is said that women can always 
be kissed oi kicked out of any right of property they may 
13 


206 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


happen to possess. Now don^t you, my little Alice, be kissed 
out of your six thousand acres of finely cultivated, and heavily 
timbered, well watered land, with all its land and water privi- 
leges. The best plantation within the bounds of old Mary- 
land. DonT you be kissed out of it, little Alice, for it makes 
you independent and of great importance. DonT you be 
kissed out of it, Alice, for you can leave it to your beloved 
daughter, who will need it. Don’t you be hissed out of it, 
Alice, my child ; and as for the other alternative, my courteous 
friend. General Garnet, is far too much of a gentleman to 
resort to it, either literally or metaphorically.” 

Judge Wylie ! Why diO you talk to me in this way? 
You are my oldest friend — you have a certain privilege. I 
beseech you, forbear to abuse it,” said Alice, divided between 
mortification and anxiety. The latter at last prevailed, and 
rhe asked : Why did you open up this subject jUst now. 
Judge Wylie ? You came to tell me why, I suppose. Tell 
me now at once.” 

Well, then, only this, Alice. That about an hour ago, I 
happened in at Squire Fox’s office, where General Garnet was 
superintending the drawing up of a deed. An involuntary — a 
providential — glance, now I think it was, over the clerk’s 
shoulder, revealed to me the fact that he was drawing up a 
deed of assignment, by which you were to convey all your 
right, title, and interest in the landed property of Mount Calm, 
to General Aaron Garnet. General Garnet then turned to 
me, and requested me to meet him here to-night, to witness 
your signature. I asked, with surprise, if you had consented 
to give it. He looked offended, and expressed astonishment 
at my question. By which I knew that he intended to come 
upon you by a coup de main, and I came off here to put you 
on your guard.” 

‘‘ Oh ! is that all ?” asked Alice, with a sigh of great relief. 

Well, Judge Wylie, if any one else in the wide world had 
talked to me as you have been talking for the last ten minutee, 
I should have said that they took a most unwarrantable and 
most offensive liberty in presuming to interfere in a matter that 
concerns only General Garnet and myself. Of you, my old 
friend, I only say that your doubts and fears are totally ground- 
less. General Garnet, perhaps, wishes to test the strength of 
my confidence in him, or he may have some other and still bet- 
ter reason for what he is about to do. At all events, when he 
lays that deed before me for signature, most willingly, moat 


THE wife’s trust. 


207 

cbeorfullj will I prove my love and respect, and confidence in 
him, by signing it at once. Judge Wylie, I am not well this 
evening. The events of the day have shaken me very much. 
Judge Wylie, with many thanks for your kind intentions, per- 
mit me to wish you good-evening !’ And Alice held out her 
hand. 

Judge Wylie arose, saying — 

Ah ! I knew it ! I might have known it before I came. 
She will not be saved when she might be. She is like all her 
sex : none of them ever will be saved, unless it’s those who 
ain’t worth saving ! Well, good-evening, Mrs. Garnet ! God 
be with you ! It is said that children and — pardon me ! — fools 
— enjoy the privilege of an especial Providence. May such a 
protection be yours ! Good-evening, madam.” 

And pressing her hand, he took his hat and stick, and was 
about to leave the room, when the front door was heard to open, 
steps to hurry up the hall, and the library door was thrown 
open, and General Garnet entered, ushering in a magistrate 
and a lawyer, who held some documents, tied with red tape, in 
his hands. 

Ah, Judge Wylie ! I am glad to find you already here. 
Gentlemen, be seated. Alice, my love, I preferred to bring 
these gentlemen here, for the purpose of transacting a little law 
business in which you are concerned, rather than risk your 
health by taking you out in this severe weather. Judge Wylie, 
resume your seat. Gentlemen, pray be seated. Alice, my 
dear, come hither ; I had expected to find the library 
empty, and you in your chamber, where I left you. I wish to 
have a word with you apart.” And T'utting one arm affection- 
ately over the shoulder of Alice, he U;ok her hand, and led her 
away to a distant part of the room, where, with his most angelic 
smile, he said — Alice, I am the nominal master of Mount 
Calm only ! but, Alice, I am at this moment a poor man 
— prove your affection and confidence now, as your heart 
dictates !” 

I know what you mean, Aaron. Come ! I am ready to do 
so — at once. But, oh ! Aaron, have you seen Elsie ?” 

“I will tell you all about that after this little business il 
over, dear Alice ! Come.” 

“ Immediately after 

Yes, instantly, and it will take but a moment.” 

Come, then, let us have it over, quickly, that I may tha 
sooner hear of Elsie. But, oh ! just assure me of this — that 


208 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


you have forgiven her ! I know by yonr smile that you have 
— but, oh ! I long to hear you say so I” 

‘^Can you doubt me, Alice ? Come ! let us have this affair 
over, and then you shall know all about it/^ 

And taking her hand, he led her up the room. 

The magistrate was seated behind a table ; before him lay a 
copy of the Holy Scriptures, pen, ink, and paper, and certain 
documents, among which was the deed of assignment in ques- 
tion. By the side of the table stood Judge Jacky and the 
lawyer, as witnesses. 

General Garnet led Alice up in front of it, and immediately 
before the magistrate. 

Squire Fox took up the deed of assignment, and read it 
aloud. Then he administered the oath to Alice, and put the 
usual questions, as to whether she gave that deed of her own 
free will, without compulsion, or undue persuasion from her 
husband ? 

“Without being kissed or kicked out of it?^^ whispered 
Judge Jacky. 

Having received satisfactory answers to all questions, the 
magistrate laid the deed open before Alice, for her signature. 
General Garnet dipped a pen in ink and handed it to her. 
Alice received it, smilingly, and in a clear, unfaltering hand, 
wrote her name at the bottom of that deed, that conferred 
upon her husband immense wealth, and left herself pen- 
niless. 

The lawyer affixed his signature, as witness. Judge Wylie, 
with a deep groan, wrote his name. The squire performed his 
part, and the business was complete. 

Alice looked up into General Garnet’s face, with an expres- 
sion that said — “ Now have you proved me sufficiently ? Now 
will you confide in me ? Will you love me ?” 

General Garnet stooped down and whispered to her — 

“ Eetire immediately to your chamber, Alice !” 

“ But — Elsie ! — tell me of her ?” 

“ Retire to your chamber, instantly, Mrs. Garnet ! — and 
await me there ! I must offer these gentlemen something to 
drink, and dismiss them ; immediately after which, I will come 
to you, and tell you all that I have done, and all that I intend 
to do !” said General Garnet, in a tone of authority and im- 
patience that would brook no opposition or delay. 

And Alice, curtsying slightly to the party, withdrew. 


life’s storm and soul’s shelter. 209 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

LIFERS* storm and SOULES SHELTER. 

Go, when the hunter’s hand hath wrung 
From forest cave -her shrieking young, 

And calm the lonely lioness — 

But chide not — mock not my distress. — Bybon. 

And 1 smiled to think God’s greatness flowed around — our incom- 
pletenesss — 

Round our restlessness — ^his rest. — Mbs. Bbowning. 

Alice retired to her chamber, and waited restlessly. An 
hour passed, and still she heard no sound of departing guests. 
It was quite dark, and she rang the bell. 

Milly entered with lights. 

^‘Tea is ready to go on the table. Miss Ally, shall we put 
it up V* 

Where is your master ? what is he doing 

^^He is in the library, ma’am, with the gentlemen. They 
don’t seem to have any notion of going home. General Garnet 
— he sent for more wine, and ordered devilled turkey and 
scolloped crabs — two other gentlemen have come in, and they 
are all very high upon pullyticks.” 

Alice heard and sighed deeply. 

So I thought. Miss Ally, how you’d like your cup of tea, 
anyhow. Shall I set the table as usual ? Though it will be 
very lonesome for you to sit at the table all alone, now that 
Miss Elsie is gone, and marster’s engaged. Or else shall I 
bring you a cup of tea up here, with any thing else you would 
like ? There is some cold fowl in the pantry, and some neat’s 
tongue, too ; shall I bring it up to you, with a cup of tea ?” 

No, Milly. Perhaps the General would like supper got 
for his guests. Come with me; I will go down and see.” 

‘^God bless your soul. Miss Ally, honey, they’s been a 
stuffing ever since they’s been here.” 

No matter for that, Milly ; you know our gentlemen 
have infinite gastronomic capacities.” 


?10 THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 

My Gor Almighty ! Miss Ally ; you don’t say so. Is It 
tatching ?” 

What?” 

That there complaint our gemmen has got.” 

Nonsense, Milly ! you misunderstood me; I meant to say 
that they had ^no bottoms to their stomachs’.” 

<<My Gor A’ mighty ! Miss Ally, what a misfortunate 
state to be in. It’s a world’s wonder as it don’t kill ’em to 
death !” 

Pshaw, Milly! There is nothing the matter with them, 
except that they never get done eating.” 

Oh, is that it. Miss Ally ? Well, indeed, I don’t be- 
lieve they ever does ; especially when they is a talkin’ pully- 
ticks. ’Case, you see. Miss Ally, I done sent ’em in four 
dozen scollop crabs and six dozen raw open Nanticoke oysters- 
each one of ’em as big as the palm of my hand, and two de- 
villed turkies, and bless patience if they didn’t put all that 
away in less than an hour, and sent for more.” 

Well, they will want a hot supper by-and-bye, that is cer- 
tain. So take the candle, Milly, and go before me. I am 
going down to the library door to speak to General Garnet.” 

Milly lifted the candlestick, and preceded her mistress 
down the stairs. 

When she reached the library door, Alice stepped before 
her and rapped. 

General Garnet came to the door and opene^i it. On seeing 
his wife : 

“ Well, what do you want now ? Didn’t I direct j on to keep 
your chamber until I came ?” he inquired, sternly. 

Yes ; and I would have done so, but your visiters are 
staying longer than you or I supposed. Perhaps they will 
need supper; shall I order it?” 

^^No! Mind your own business. Don’t go beyond your 
orders. Keturn to your room and wait me there,” he said, 
and shut the door in her face. 

Alice sighed, and turned from the door. 

Milly was indignant. This was the first time she had ever 
positively witnessed any disrespect shown to her beloved mis- 
tress. And Milly boiled with rage. 

“ High I Who he ? Mus’ think how people ’fraid o’ him. 
My Lor ! I only jes’ wish how my ole man Tom ’ould turn a 
darned etarnal fool in his ole days, and talk to me so 1 tha£i 
all I ’High I’ I say, ‘nigger, better hit somebody, hadn’t you ? 


life’s storm and soul’s shelter. 211 

Is you doue tuk leave o’ your ole woolly head’s senses ?’ ’Deed 
I would. Look here, Miss Ally, honey ! Don’t you put up 
o’ that there shortness. Now Miss Elsie’s gone, he can’t spite 
you any way. He daren’t hitjon. ’Case why? ’case the law 
protects you. Now, Miss Ally, I say, you take my ’vice. You 
jes’ pluck up a sperit and turn on him. And put a ’stonish- 
ment on to him. Jes’you step it over him in style. Make him 
walk chalk. Ses you, ‘ Now, you behave yourself, or I’ll un- 
mask you afore all the world, and let people see how pretty 
you are underneat of your smiles.’ Lor, Miss Ally, if men 
ain’t the easiest spil’t and a made fools of, of all the dumb 
beasts as ever wore shoe leather. There’s my ole man Tom. 
Why, anybody’ d think he was the bestest ole nigger as ever 
said prayers. But Lor ! when we first took up ’long o’ each 
other, the cussed infunnally fool thought he was marster ; 
thought how he’d got a nigger of his own. Ugh — umph ! 
I soon took him out o’ that there. 1 wa’nt a goin’ to lay down 
on the ground and let people walk on me. Now he ’haves 
himself as a man ought to do. ’Twon’t do. Miss Ally, ’deed 
it won’t. Miss Ally ! to spile men folks. Men folks ’quire to 
be made to know their places. ’Deed, ’fore my Heavenly 
Marster, they do, honey.” 

Doubtless Alice would have rebuked this freedom of speech, 
had she heard one word of it ; but she did not. She only 
knew that Milly was twaddling some monotonous strain of 
monologue, as she carried the candle before her up stairs. 

Arrived within her chamber, Alice dismissed her maid, re- 
fusing all refreshment, and threw herself, exhausted and 
anxious, upon her bed. 

As the hours passed slowly away, sounds of revelry from 
below stairs began to reach and disturb her. As time wore 
on towards midnight, these orgies became louder and higher. 
Vociferous laughter, shouting songs, and thundering cheers 
mingled in a strange wild discord, and broke startlingly upon 
the aristocratic repose of that mansion, and the holy quiet of 
that night. Alice listened in fear and trembling and disgust, 
for such orgies were unprecedented there. 

At length, long after midnight, the company broke up in 
great disorder. Alice listened shudderingly to their noisy 
leave-taking, as with jocular songs, coarse jests, voeiferout, 
cheers and laughter, they departed. Then she heard the 
< 5 losing of doors and windows, and the steps of Heneral Garnet 
as he moved about the house. Lastly, she heard him coming 


212 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


up the stairs. He entered the chamber. Alice arose to meet 
him. 

Oh ! you are waiting up to hear something about Elsie. 
Well, sit down,^' said he, putting down the night-lamp, closing 
the door, and turning to her with a sarcastic smile. 

Alice had sunk into a chair, faint, sickened by the sight of 
the demon leer that now he did not even turn to conceal. 

Well, now, what questions do you want to put to me ? I 
am quite ready to answer any,^^ he said, dropping himself 
into a chair before her, crossing his feet, folding his arms, and 
leaning back. 

“ Elsie, then ? have you seen her 

What, not seen Elsie V* she repeated, with a look of deep 
disappointment. Not seen Elsie 

he answered again, looking at her with steady, im- 
perturbable contempt. 

'^But you — ^you intern^ to see her?^^ asked Alice, with a 
sinking voice. 

Never! Never, so help me Heaven! And now listen, 
minion I fool ! It was foi: the purpose of punishing her and 
vou — of beggaring her and you, that I obtained that deed V* 
ne exclaimed, malice, scorn, taunting triumph writhing around 
his lips, flashing from his eyes, and lighting up the whole dark 
face with a lurid demoniac fire. 

Alice stared at him for an instant with a marble-like im- 
mobility of countenance, as if it were impossible for her to 
comprehend such black treachery. 

Stretching out his arm, and pointing his finger at her, he 
laughed aloud. 

Then the spell of amazement that checked the current of 
her blood was broken, and slowly from the pallid lips came 
the words. 

Oh, my Grod ! I understand it all now I” 

Ha ! ha ! ha ! do you 

All — all,’^ she continued, without withdrawing her steady 
gaze — “ all, all. 1 have sold my birth-right and hers, for — a 
kiss V’ 

Ha ! ha ! ha ! Well, what do you want to complain of? 
You got the kiss,^^ he exclaimed, in the most insulting 
manner. 

I have sold her birth-right for a kiss ! a serpent^s kiss J 
a Judas kiss cried Alice, wildly ringing her hands. 


life’s storm and soul’s shelter. 213 

“ Come, Mrs. Garnet, no hard words, if you please. Re- 
member how you hung upon me this morning. You were 
so affectionate ! I was quite flattered ; grew ^ quite in 
favour with myself,’ and almost with you — only it is d — h 
impossible to rekindle ashes.^^ 

“ Oh ! flend ! flend ! remorseless fiend ! I shall go mad I 
Oh, God ! where sleep your thunderbolts cried Alice, rising, 
and walking distractedly up and down the floor. 

^^Come, madam. No more of this. I am tired of it. Re- 
sume your seat,^' exclaimed General Garnet, leaving his scorn- 
ful, taunting manner, and speaking^ in the deep, stern tones 
of haughty command. 

But Alice heard him not, as she walked wildly up and down 
the room, crying. 

Oh, God ! God ! where rest your thunderbolts V* 

Do you hear me ? Sit down, I say ! or, by Heaven, I 
will send you in search of the thunderbolts I” 

But Alice was not to be stopped now. Still wildly walking 
up and down the floor, distractedly wringing her hands, she 
was pouring forth the gathered bitterness of many years — 

have borne so much, great God. I have borne so 
much. Oh, I have been a woman ^ of sorrows and acquainted 
with grief.^ And who is it that has made my life, my harm- 
less life, one long pain ? You, General Garnet, you. You 
married me by force, you know you did. In my young girl- 
hood — nay, in my innocent childhood, when life opened to 
ipe with such a bright promise of usefulness and happiness 
with one I loved, with one to whom my faith was plighted, 
you tore me away from that one, and made his life a useless 
barren waste, and married me yourself, for your own selfish 
purposes, and nearly broke my heart and crazed my brain. 
God knows I have no clear recollection now of the months 
that followed my marriage. Well! Well! Well! ^Time 
and the hour beareth away all things,^ and as time passed, I 
learned to love you. Because you were my husband, and the 
father of my child, and because it was the great necessity of 
my nature to love, I loved you. God knows, I think there 
was no other reason. Oh ! if Heaven gave me one idea purer 
and higher than all the rest, it was that of the beauty and 
holiness of marriage ! And though mine was a miserable 
sacrifice, so great was my need to live in an atmosphere of 
love and piety, that I tried to make a sort of temple of it. 
It was a w ild ruin. OA, worse I it was a ridiculous failure J 


214 


THB DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


This hour has proved it. Ha! ha ! ha ! Hark I did /iaugh ? 
No, it was not I. I have nothing to laugh at in earnest^ and 
I never laugh in scorn. But there are two spirits in me now, 
and one mocks at the other.^^ 

Sit down ! This moment, sit down 1” thundered General 
Garnet, stamping furiously. 

“But heedless as the dead was she 
Of all around, above, beneath!” 

Of all hut the stormy outpouring of thought and feeling, from 
her own overburdened heart and brain — 

When you trampled all my rights and my happiness be- 
neath your feet, when you seized and married me against my 
will, I excused you, for I said you loved me with a strong 
passion, and strong passions have their necessities and their 
rights. When you required me to give up my dearest friends, 
and lay aside habits of study and elegant amusements, that 
were a second nature to me, I said that your position gave you 
a right to dictate to me, and I acquiesced without a murmur. 
When you took my little child away from me, the only com- 
fort I had left in the world, and sent her across the ocean, to 
remain at school for many years, I said you were her father, 
and what you did was doubtless intended for her good, how- 
ever mistaken the intention might be, and I submitted. Re- 
cently, when you have laid violent hands upon my person, and 
endangered my life, I said it was violence of temper, not 
malignity of heart, and I resolved, for your sake and mine, to 
keep our secret, and to bear with it. I excused it — nay, I 
went farther, and vindicated it. No ill usage, from mere vio- 
lence of temper, could have affected my happiness. I do not 
know but that I thought you had a right to strike me if you were 
angry. Because 1 was superstitious and fanatical, and because 
I loved you then. They say that ^ Perfect love casteth out 
fear.^ My love, imperfect as it was, cast out fear. When I 
conscientiously assisted at Elsie’s marriage, and remained home 
here to meet you, I nerved my heart to bear all your fury. I 
even said it would be just, coming from you. And no matter 
hou much I had suffered at your hands, no matter if you had 
hift me for dead, as you did once before, if I had recovered, 
I oould have gone on cheerfully with my daily duties, as if 
nothing had happened. Because I could have understood 


LIFE S STORM AND SOUL’S SHELTER. 215 

violence, as I said : I could have understood anything that 
grew out of heat of passion — anything, but this clear-headed, 
cold-blooded treachery — because I loved you then. Nay I My 
Grod ! I believe in my soul, I love you yet^ and it is that which 
stings my self-respect to madness. It is that which lays my 
soul open to the entrance of the scornful, jibing spirit that 
mocks at my holiest instincts.” 

“ Sit down ! Sit down ! I say,” vociferated General Gar- 
net, striding towards her. 

Suddenly she fell at his feet, and raised her clasped hands, 
saying, 

I am mad ! I am mad ! Two spirits possess me — a mad 
and a sane one. It is the mad spirit that impels me to say 
now — while your serpent-treachery folds its cold, damp coils 
about my heart, and not so much stings as chilU me to death, 
— to say now, in the face of all reason — while the same spirit 
keeps before me — to say, only forgive Elsie ! only be recon- 
ciled with her, and take all the rest ; and I will try to forget 
that I have been deceived and scorned. At least I will never, 
never harbour the thought, much less give it expression again. 
Come, forgive your child ! You cannot be for ever obdurate to 
your child ! Be reconciled to her, and I will believe that 
anger and disappointment bereft you of your reason — for a 
little while — and that it was only during a temporary fit of 
insanity that you could have done such a thing. And I will 
honour you again.” 

Poh ! fudge ! You are not so mad as to believe the 
words you are saying,” said General Garnet, jerking her up, 
and flinging her upon the sofa. “ There, be quiet ; I hate 
raving — and now listen to what I have to say in regard to 
Elsie : I will never see her, or speak to her, or receive a letter 
or a message from her, under any circumstances, whatever, so 
long as I live. I will never permit you to see her, or speak 
to her, or hold any communication, by letter or message, with 
her, under any circumstances that may occur, so long as you 
live. I will never give her an acre of land, or a cent of money, 
or an article of food, or raiment, or fuel, to save her from star- 
vation or freezing !” 

Alice, exhausted, prostrate, gazed at him in horror, a? 
with a darkened and ferocious countenance, a'nd a voice ot 
concentrated hatre d, so deep as to be nearly inaudible, he con 

tinued, 


216 


THB DISCARDED DAUaHTBR. 


If she were to dare to set foot upon this plantation, 1 
would loosen my blood-hounds upon her 

Fiend ! — you are the only blood-hound that would hurt 
her. Turn them loose on her, then, — do it ! They would 
crouch at her feet ! They would lick her hands — her beauti- 
ful hands — that have fed and caressed them all. Or get 
strange dogs to hunt her with, and even they would grovel 
before the angel in her eyes. Oh, fool ! — you are the only 
brute on God’s creation that would harm her,” said Alice, in 
a low, deep ton-e. 

General Garnet continued, as if he had not heard her. 

If she were lying, dying, at my gate, I would not suffer 
one of my negroes to hand her a drink of water, if that drink 
of water would save her from death !” 

Demon ! — there is not a man, woman, or child on this 
plantation that you could hinder, with all your malice and 
power, from rendering Elsie any service she might require, — 
unless you imprisoned them, or tied them hand and foot!” 
said Alice, in a dying voice. 

Still he continued, without attending to her indignant but 
faint interruptions. And his face became still more dark and 
demoniac. 

And now comes the very best of the argument, which, like 
a good orator, I have saved for the very last — I wonder how 
you will like it ! I shall take pleasure in watching the play 
of your pretty features while I tell you, and dissecting and 
analyzing the emotions of your heart as you hear ! And say- 
ing within myself — there is so much regretj and there is so 
much shame, and there is so much jealousy, and there is so 
much rage. Listen, then — you have disappointed me in my 
first plan for uniting two great estates. Before I have done, I 
will make you regret that, — the estates shall be united yet. You 
have taught your daughter to disobey me — very well — you 
have bereft her of her birthright for a caress, to your shame 
be it remembered, — and I have discarded and disowned her. 
But, listen : I have another daughter — the child of my 
love ! — ha ! — are you pale ytith. jealousy ? Listen, farther yet : 
all the broad lands of Mount Calm that came by you, and 
should descend to your child, and enrich her, will I bestow 
upon the child of my love ; and her hand will I bestow upon 
Lionel Hardcastle, who will be glad to accept it, no doubt. 
Ha ! Now die of rage /” he exclaimed, with a ferocious 


life’s storm and soul’s shelter. 217 


But neither regret, shame, or jealousy, or rage, disfigured 
that peaceful face, or agitated that composed figure. General 
Garnet, who glanced at her first in triumph, now gazed in awe. 
Her eyes were closed, her hands had fallen. Her whole 
figure expressed perfect repose. She looked as if the Angel 
of Death had laid his hand upon her head, and said to that 
storm-tossed life, Peace — Be still.” “And there had fal- 
len a Great Calm.” 


218 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

DAY AFTER THE WEDDING. 

What is the world to them ? 

Its pomp, its pleasure, and its nonsense all ? 

Who in each other clasp whatever fair. 

High fancy forms and lavish hearts can wish 
Or in the mind or mind-illumined face ; 

Truth, goodness, honour, harmony and love. 

The richest bounty of indulgent Heaven ! — Thompson. 

At break of day, a large travelling wagon, strongly and 
compiictly built, and neatly roofed with snow-white tent cloth 
stretched lightly over hoops, and drawn by two stout gray 
mules, stood before the village hotel at Huttontown. This 
wagon was closely packed with a small assortment of cabin 
furniture. All this ‘‘household stuff was perfectly new, 
clean, neat, and bright, and snugly stowed away in the back 
and middle part of the wagon. Near the front of the vehicle 
stood a small, flag-bottomed arm-chair, wedged tightly in be- 
tween boxes and trunks, so that it could not be jostled by the 
motion of the wagon. It is needless to say that this was the 
“ travelling carriage'^ of our bridal pair, or that the little flag- 
bottomed chair was provided for the especial convenience and 
comfort of the bride. Early as the hour was, a crowd of vil- 
lage neighbours had collected for the pleasure of seeing the 
“bride and groom’^ come out, and the wagon start “for the 
Western country.'^ Among the assembled villagers was a 
fine, handsome boy, of ten or twelve years of age, who volun- 
teered to hold the reins until the travellers should come forth. 

The people had not very long to wait. The front door of 
the hotel opened, and Doctor Hardcastle, clad in a large, 
shaggy over-coat and over-hauls, and fox-skin cap and gloves 
and looking as great, energetic, and joyous as ever, came out^ 
leading Elsie, wrapped in a full, brown cloth cloak, with her 
healthful, happy face, blooming and smiling from out the com- 
fortable rolls of a wadded, brown silk hood. 

Magnus nodded and smiled, as he shook hands hastily 


DAT AFTER THE WEDDING. 


219 


right and left, and hurried Elsie towards the wagon. He lift- 
ed her in, fixed her comfortably in her chair, wrapped the 
ample folds of her cloak about her, and tucked it snugly around 
lier feet, with a solicitous care for her, and a total indifference 
to the eyes of the lookers on, that provoked their merriment 
into peals of good-humoured laughter, accompanied by excla- 
mations of — “ That is right. Doctor. Take good care of her, 
Grod bless her ! That’s right. Doctor. That’s the way. Tuck 
her up warm. Indeed, her chin will freeze, if you don’t muf- 
fle that comforter closer around her throat.” 

“ Oh, hurry ! let’s escape this !” whispered Elsie, laughing 
and blushing. 

Never mind, dear! Never mind their rough manners. 
You are too generous and large-hearted to feel anger or con- 
tempt at their unrefined method of expressing their sympathy, 
which is really more sincere and earnest than all the congratu 
lations in elegant phrases that ladies and gentlemen give and 
receive upon such occasions. Let us have patience with un- 
cultivated Nature, dear Elsie, for we are going to live with 
her a long time. At least, have any other feeling for humanity 
rather than contempt, dear Elsie,” replied Magnus, as he 
finished arranging her cloak. 

‘‘ Me ! me presume to feel contempt for my rough, honest, 
kindly neighbours 1 Oh, Magnus, never ! I will prove to you 
that I do not 1” exclaimed Elsie, in a low, hurried voice. 

Then Magnus sprang into his seat, and took the reins from 
the hands of the lad. 

As he gave them up, the boy fixed a long, lingering, wishful 
look at the wagon and its occupants. 

“You look as if you had half a mind to accompany us, my 
boy,” said Doctor Hardcastle, as he read the expression of the 
lad’s countenance. 

“Oh, I have, sir ! for I feel I could be useful, almost ne- ' 
cessary to you, and beneficial to myself, if I could go, but I 
have a little girl to take care of at home.” 

“ A little girl to take care of? you I 

“ Yes, sir, my little sister, or rather she is just like my 
little sister. We live on Hutton Island.” 

“ Oh ! yes, the two Children of the Isle. How came you 
over here so early, my boy ?” 

“ I came over to bring some maninosies to the tavern, sir, 
in time for them to be prepared for breakfast. I expect you 
ate some of them yourself, sir.” 


220 THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 

Yes, and they were very good/' 

My sister and I gathered them, sir." 

Yes. Well, my boy, you look like a fine, independent, 
enterprising lad. Eely on God and yourself, improve your 
mind, be honest, industrious, and frugal, and you will make 
your own way in the world. What is your name ?” 

Hugh Hutton, sir." 

Yes, young Hutton of the Isles, one of the ^Scotch lairds, 
as the people used to call them for their pride and — ” 
^^Poverty” calmly concluded the boy. 

Well, child, they go admirably well together. Hold to 
your pride as long as you are poor, and cast it away when you 
become rich. Well, Hugh, I will not forget you, or los< 
sight of you. Some day I shall come back, and then you maj 
return with me. Good-bye," said Doctor Hardcastle, shaking 
hands with the boy. 

Then he arose in his seat, lifted his cap, and waved farewell 
to the neighbours. Elsie kissed her hand to them several 
times, blushing brightly as they all waved their hats and 
handkerchiefs, and amid the cheers and benedictions of the 
little crowd, the wagon started. 

We must make thirty miles to-day, dear Elsie, and reach 
Deep Dell by nightfall if possible," said Magnus. 

Oh, how I wish that fine boy were really with us. How 
useful he could be to you, and what a man you could make 
of him !" said she, looking back to where Hugh stood, the 
last of the crowd, watching the departing wagon. 

God has made a man of him already, dear Elsie. What 
a fine, independent look he has ! Yes, I could have wished 
him to go with us ; a very strong sympathy attracts me to 
that boy. I should be very proud of that boy." 

He will be gentle and great like you. He reminds me 
of what you were at his age, when you used to carry me about 
the forest in your arms, as joyous as a boy, yet as careful as 
a woman. I thought of that when he talked about his sister. 
Magnus, I used to feel as if I should so love to have a sister 
or to be a sister. There is such a sweet and tender thought 
in sisterhood — children of the same mother. Just now I 
thought that boy's voice took a tone of modulated sweetness 
when he spoke of his sister. Yet his very gentleness must be 
the playfulness of a lion's cub — there is such fire in his grand 
eyes, that reminded me of you, too. Oh, Magnus, do you 
know what I have been thinking of? what great music haa 


DAY AFTER THE WEDDING. 


221 


been sounding its majestic harmony through my soul this 
morning, as I journey by your side into the wilderness ? Lis- 
ten — 

* Thy spirit;, Independence, let me share, 

Lord of the lion heart and eagle eye I 
Thy steps I follow with my bosom bare. 

Nor heed the storm that howls along the sky.' 

And I feel as if you were that very incarnate spirit of Inde- 
pendence, and I am sure that that boy was the worshipping 
disciple who was ready to follow you ; and as for me, Mag- 
nus,’^ she continued, laughing, there is such a superfluous 
amount of energy in my little body and soul this morning, 
that I feel as if I could not only brave and bear hardships and 
peril by your side, but should be disappointed if they did not 
come.^' 

You have so much resistance, Elsie ! but do not do with 
your wealth of energy as the Prodigal Son did with his wealth 
of money, spend it all at the outset ; and, as an illustration of 
what I mean, put your hands within your cloak, and fold it 
closely around your chest — we are about to turn and face a 
sharp, if not a violent north-wester, and after the sun is fully 
up, you will see that it will blow harder,^^ said Magnus, as they 
turned the end of the street and entered the turnpike road. 

It was a glorious winter day; the sun now arose in cloud- 
less splendour, lighting up the snow-clad hills and plains, and 
ice-spangled forest trees and bushes into flashing, dazzling ra- 
diance, while far away behind them dashed and sparkled the 
green waters of the Chesapeake, like a sea of molten emeralds. 

Their road, after leaving the village, lay over the snowy hills 
and plains, and through the forest around the base of Mount 
Calm. In making the circuit they once came in full view of 
the front of the mansion-house, and Elsie, seizing her hus- 
band’s arm, exclaimed, 

Magnus, tie your pocket handkerchief at the end of your 
stick, and get up and wave it. I know that our beloved 
mother has been watching at that window for the last hour to 
see us pass. I know it, though it is too distant to see her 
distinctly; yet I think I see somebody there. Wave it, Mag- 
nus, and then we’ll know.” 

Doctor Hardcastle stood up, lifted the impromptu flag on 
high, and presently the signal was returned by a white cloth 
waved from t''e window, and instantly withdrawn. 

14 


222 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


She saw us, she saw us, Magnus ! But stay ! why diduH 
she look out V* 

^^It would not have been safe on such a sharp morning as 
this, for your mother to run her head out of the window in 
that bleak, exposed position,'' said Magnus, repressing the va- 
rious vague forebodings of his heart. 

I am afraid something has happened to mother, Magnus. 
Oh ! indeed, I feel as if something had/' said Elsie, anxiously. 

“Nonsense, my love. I saw some of the gentlemen who 
were there last night until twelve, and who slept at the hotel, 
and one of them told me when I inquired, that all the family 
were well. However, Elsie, in driving around we will see 
some of the coloured folks, and receive fresh assurance. El- 
sie, dear, it is solely on your mother's account that I do not 
turn into the grounds and drive up to the mansion-house now, 
and make a last effort at reconciliation with your father. I 
know, Elsie, that it would only subject her to a violent and 
perhaps fatal scene. I know, poor child, that it is a great 
trial to you to pass by your father’s bouse, bound for a long 
journey, and a new, strange life, without stopping to ask his 
blessing. Oh ! I know it, my poor Elsie ! but keep your 
courage ; this is the sharpest, and it is also the last trial you 
shall have." 

“ Oh, my courage is up," said Elsie, dashing the sparkling 
tears from her eyes, and smiling out like an April sun from 
the clouds. “These, father, are the very last tears I am go- 
ing to shed. No, indeed, won’t I weep, and make you sad for 
me, my dear Magnus ! No, indeed, won’t I, for anybody's 
cruelty and injustice !" 

“ Hush, hush, my darling ! ^ The heart grows bitter by 

saying bitter things,"' said Magnus, kissing the dew-drops 
from her rosy cheek. 

“Gfee up, Dobbin! make them gee up, Magnus," said El- 
sie, poking at the mules with the point of her umbrella. 

Magnus put whip to the animals, and they started afresh. 
Soon, in turning around towards the back of Mount Calm, 
they came to a group of negroes just starting to their work. 
Every man of them dropped his hat, and stood bowing, smil- 
ing, and grimacing at the sight of their young mistress. 
Magnus stopped the wagon. 

“ How are they all at the house. Uncle Bob ?" he asked of 
the driver. 

“All fus' rate, sar I 'Deed dey is, Miss Elsie, honey !" 


DAY AFTER THE WEDDING. 


223 


Are you sure that mother is quite well, Boh 
^Deed, fus^ rate, Miss Elsie ! ^Deed is her, honey V* 

How do you know, Uncle Bob ? you never go to the 
house/^ 

^^^Beed, honey, sister Milly told me; Meed, honey, you 
neednH be H all oneasy, nor likewise ^stress in your min^ ^bout 
your ma ! Be madam is fus’ rate — Meed her is ! Ber wa’n’t 
nothin’ of no fuss, nuther, honey ! — eberyting passed off quite 
quiet — Marse Iron he had some company las’ night, and ’joyed 
himself ^long o’ de gemmen very much.” 

It is unnecessary to say, that “ Iron” was the negro corrup- 
tion af Aaron, and not an unapt translation, either. 

And mother is well and cheerful ?” 

High ! what I tell you. Miss Elsie ? Think I gwine to 
ax you a lie ? Be madam is fus’ rate !” 

Thank Heaven, then ! Here, Bob, here is a keepsake for 
you. It is a little prayer-book that I have carried in my 
pocket ever since I first left home for England. I held it in 
my hand when I was married, and I intended to carry it out 
West with me; but here, you shall have it. And, Bob, give 
my love to mother, and tell her that I am ren/ happy — ^you 
hear. Bob?” 

^^Yes, Miss.” 

“ And give her this letter. Bob,” said Boctor Hardcastle, 
taking one ready sealed and directed from his pocket. 

Then they took leave of the coloured folks, shook hands 
with Uncle Bob, and started. Again Elsie called the driver 
back. 

Now, be sure to tell my dear mother that she must not 
have a thought or a care for me. Tell her I am very happy 

^^Yes, Miss Elsie, yes, honey; I’ll be sure to tell her — 
Meed, Gfod A’mighty knows will I. Good-bye ! God bless 
YOU, Miss Elsie, and you, too, Marse Magnet ! I wishes you 
both all the good luck in the worl’ ! — ’deed I does, children ! 
' — ’deed, God A’mighty knows does I — I don’t care what ole 
marse say !” 

And Uncle Bob hurried off after his staff of workmen, leav- 
ing the wagon pursuing its way. 

Suddenly, with one of his impetuous bursts of emotion, 
Magnus threw his arms around the form of his his bride, and 
drew her to his bosom, exclaiming. 

Oh, Elsie ! every now and then I realize, with a sort of 
^uick, sharp, almost mortal pang of joy, that you really are 


224 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


my wife ! Oh, Elsie ! my love ! my child ! there lives not a 
being on earth so happy as I ! There lives not a creature in 
Heaven so happy as I 

And she sank upon his bosom, pale, faint, with excess of 
joy. The reins were loosed, the mules came to a stand-still 
on the decline of the hill, when Elsie, with one of her sud- 
den, healthful rebounds from the bathos of sentiment, sprang 
laughing up, and seized the reins, exclaiming. 

Gee up, Dobbin ! Magnus, why don’t you make them 
gee up ? We shall not make our thirty miles, to-day.” 

Magnus took the reins from her hands, flourished the whip, 
and they set off in earnest, unmindful of a cynical old negro 
by the roadside, who, watching them as he bagged his snow- 
birds from the trap, said, 

The cussed infunnally young fools ! I s’ pose dey tink it al- 
ways gwine be jes’ so ! Gor A’mighty help ’em ! Aar, Lor ! 
der troubles is all afore ’em, like young bearses !” 

And they went on, happy, hopeful, confident, and justly 
confident j recalling the past with its childish pleasures, plan- 
ning for the future, pointing out to each other familiar places 
in the forest, and spots associated with some childish remi- 
niscence — now it was the very tree where Magnus first took 
her to gather chestnuts ; now the very dell where he set traps 
to catch snow-birds for her ; now the thicket where the wild 
rose-bushes bore so full in spring; now the glade that was red 
with strawberries in May : and so, talking and laughing, 
hoping and believing, billing and cooing, our pair of turtle 
doves pursued their Westerly flight. 


DEEP DELL — COUNTRY TAVERN. 


225 


CHAPTER XXX. 

DEEP DELL — COUNTRY TAVERN. 

Here rustic statesmen talked with looks profound, 

And news much older than their ale went round. 

Goldsmith. 

It was far into the night when they reached Deep Dell, and 
put up at the large log tavern that fulfilled the manifold duties 
of country store, post-office, smithy, meeting-house, court-house, 
and hotel, and was consequently a place of great bustle, if not 
business. Here our emigrant pair, by special favour, were 
accommodated with the landlady’s own parlour, and promised 
a private supper. The tavern was full of people, for this was 
mail day, and the post-boy from Huttontown was expected 
every moment. 

Magnus went out to put his wagon under cover, and to feed 
and stable his mules. 

And Elsie sat to employ his absence in writing a few lines 
to her mother, which she enclosed and directed to Mr. Wilson, 
the young Methodist minister. 

She had scarcely concluded when supper, consisting of fin© 
coffee and rich cream, buckwheat-cakes, fresh butter, and 


226 


THE DISCAEDED DAUGHTER. 


venison steaks, with currant-jelly, was brought in and neatly 
arranged upon the table. 

Magnus came in, and Elsie, with a blush and a smile, took 
her seat at the head of the board. This was the first time she 
had done the honours of the table,’^ and her half-womanly, 
half-childly heart was pleased at the novelty of her position. 

As for Slagnus, he was as gravely comfortable as if he had 
been used to his vis-a-vis all his life. 

Very early the next morning the mules were fed and 
watered and put to the wagon, and a substantial breakfast 
prepared for our travellers. 

But when Magnus went to the bar to pay his bill, the bar- 
keeper, with the slow nonchalance of a country postmaster, 
handed him a letter, which he said had been brought by the 
Huttontown post-boy late the night previous. Magnus took 
the letter. It was superscribed in the handwriting of Mr 
Wilson. He turned it to break it open, and found, to his 
dismay, that the seal was black. He tore it open. It was 
short, even abrupt in its annunciation. 

Huttontown, Dec. 18th, 18 — . 
Dr. Hardcastle — My Dear Friend : 

I keep the post-boy waiting while I write to announce the 
painful intelligence of the death of Mrs. Garnet. She expired 
suddenly about two o’clock this morning — three hours before 
you left Huttontown, although we did not receive the sad news 
of her decease until seven o’clock. The funeral is fixed for 
to-morrow afternoon at four. Return immediately, if you 
would be present to pay the last respects to the memory of 
the sainted dead. May Heaven grant that this season of 
awful and mutual bereavement may be sanctified to the hearts 
and souls of the father and daughter, of the father-in-law and 
the son-in-law, and that you may be all reconciled — each to 
the other, and all to God — is the prayer of 

Your brother in Christian love, 

Ebenezer Wilson. 

“ Why, 'wJiy was not this letter given me last night ?” ex- 
claimed Doctor Hardcastle, in strong excitement. 

“ Because, sir, the mail did not get in until an hour after 
you had gone to bed.” 

Have you any descr’ntion of carriage here, lighter than 


BEEP BELL — COUNTRY TAVERN 227 

my wagon ? We must set off instantly, on our return to 
Huttontown/^ 

hope there’s no bad news, sir?” 

Yes — my wife’s mother died yesterday.” 

^^Grood Heaven, sir; was the poor lady sick when yon 
left?” 

^^No, no — it was unexpected — quite suddenly; we left hei 
in perfect health. Is there any vehicle I can procure ?” 

Why, sir — dear me, this is very shocking ; I am very sorrj 
to hear it. Yes, there’s Mrs. Barber — her old carry-all.” 

“Have ray mules put to it on the instant,” said Magnus; 
and pale with trouble, he went into the little breakfast parlour 
where Elsie sat at the head of the breakfast table awaiting. 
His grave demeanour, his troubled face, and the open letter 
with the broken black seal, alarmed her. Starting up in 
haste, she rushed to his side. He threw his arms around her, 
and placed the letter in her hand. 

Elsie read the first lines. She was too strong, and full of 
blood, to faint, but the strength and sanguinity that kept her 
from failing under the sudden, tremendous blow, gave greater 
energy and passion to her grief. Breaking from her husband’s 
arms, with a wild shriek, she gave herself up to passionate 
lamentations and bitter self-reproaches : 

“ I should not have left her — I should not have left her ! 
Oh, I see now, it was thoughtless — it was selfish — it was cruel 
to leave her ! If I could scarcely bear my father’s tyranny, 
how could she ? How could she — so delicate, so sensitive ! 
Died suddenly I — oh, yes, done to death — done to death ! And 
to keep it secret for four or five hours — oh !” 

“ Elsie — dear, darling Elsie — hush ! do not say bitter and 
sinful things, which you will repent.” 

“ Oh, don’t put your arms around me, Magnus! It would 
be heinous for me to be loved, or comforted by your sympathy, 
now. I who left my gentle, fragile mother alone, to be done 
to death for me ; my dove-iike mother, in the claws of the 
vulture. I, who was so much stronger, and who, having your 
protection also, should have remained to protect her. I to 
leave her, defenceless, and in peril for my sake, and to come 
flaunting off, so happy and thoughtless, like a very wanton. 
Oh, Magnus, I could go to a nunnery, Magnus — I could go tc 
a nmiuory, Magnus. A hundred serpents are gnawing at my 


228 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


heart ! Oh, Magnus, I can never be happy — never make yoa 
happy in this world again. Oh, Magnus, I am sorry — so sorry 
for you, too ! You did not deserve a sorrow-stricken, remorse- 
ful wife. Oh, mother, dear, gentle mother, what harm did your 
innocent life do to any one, that it should have been trampled 
out V’ 

And then she burst into tears — such copious tears, such 
floods of tears, as only one of her strong and sanguine tem- 
perament could have shed. 

Tears and lamentations are the natural vent of a healthful 
Borrow. It is only the sonow unto death that is mute and 
dry. 

And while she was drowned in tears, and wringing her 
hands, and wailing, and talking, Magnus walked up and down 
the floor, waiting as patiently as he would have waited for a 
storm of thunder, lightning, and rain to subside, except when 
some unfilial expression of bitter indignation against her 
father would escape her lips, when he would go up to her, 
and gently risk to stop her : 

^^Dear Elsie, you must not speak so. Nothing that your 
father can do or say to me, or to others, can affect your duty 
towards him. Elsie, you must speak of your father with 
respect, or not speak of him at all. That is what your 
eainted mother would have advised, and, gentle as she was, 
enforced. There was nothing more admirable in Alice Gar- 
net’s blameless character and conduct than the delicate reserve 
with which she concealed her own sufferings, and the gentle 
dignity with which she constrained the respect of all her 
friends for General Garnet. I often compared her to the dove, 
folding her wing over her mortal wound, to hide it from all 
eyes.” 

Blessed mother ! — oh, angel mother !” said Elsie, burst- 
ing into fresh floods. 

She respected the husband in General Garnet — will you 
not respect the father ?” at last said Magnus. 

Oh, yes — yes, I will, indeed ! I will never say another 
word about him. If I do, stop me — don’t let me, please, 
Magnus. I don’t wish to do wrong; but, oh, Magnus, is it 
not enough to try one’s faith — to kill one’s faith — when one 
BO good as my mother is permitted to suffer and to die ?” ex 


DEEP DELL — COUNTRY TAVERN. 229 

..aimed Elsie, giving way to another extravagant burst of 
6orrow. 

Magnus knelt by her side, and took her hands, and stroked 
her hair, and wiped her tears, until the fresh gush of grief 
had spent itself, and then he said. 

Dear Elsie, it is the great strengthener and supporter of 
faith — the sufferings and premature death of the good. It 
makes immortality. Heaven, certain, because necessary; and 
necessary, because just. Dear Elsie, what is the life and death 
of Christ intended to teach ? What is the resurrection and 
ascension intended to insure 

“ I know — oh, I know she is an angel in Heaven ; but 
Heaven itself needs ^familiarizing^ to our feelings, before it 
can console us for the lost — much.^^ 

At this moment the bar-keeper came in, and said that the 
carryall was ready. Doctor Hardcastle re-arranged the cloak 
around his almost helpless companion, tied her hood, and lead- 
ing her out, fixed her in the back seat of the carryall. 

The journey back was commenced — oh, under what different 
auspices, and with what different feelings to those which 
blessed the drive of yesterday ! 

Elsie sat in the back of the carryall, with her head bowed 
upon her hands, pale and silent, with that heavy, dull, deadening 
soul-ache, that marks an abiding sorrow; or else breaking out 
into passionate bewailings, as some sharp, sudden realization 
of her bereavement pierced her heart. 

So was the first part of the journey performed. But Elsie 
was too right-minded to give way to hopeless sorrow long af- 
ter the first shock was over. Before they had got half way to 
Huttontown, her fine temperament had reacted healthfully, 
and came up to the aid of the moral strength that would have 
controlled these extravagant manifestations of grief. Her 
tears and lamentations were silenced. Her muffled and sullen 
despair was conquered, and she lifted up a pale, but tearless 
face, and entered into conversation with her husband. And 
though her sorrow was as deep — ^yes, deeper than before, be- 
cause it had subsided from expression into her silent heart — 
she did not again either rave, or sink under it, during that 
mournful drive home. 

She explained to her husband how it was, that in the very 
las/ of the parting scene with her poor mother, her suspiciona 


230 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


of her father’s tyranny and her mother’s silent sufferings had 
been first aroused ; that she had banished the idea as one too 
unfilial, too heinous to be entertained for an instant; that it 
had recurred again, to be driven away again ; and so until the 
minister’s note, the sudden death, the four or five hours’ con- 
cealment, had confirmed her worst misgivings. 

Dearest Elsie, I know every pang these severe trials have 
given you. I know the terrible struggle between old respect, 
affection, and confidence, and the new set of feelings these 
revelations tend to arouse. But, dearest Elsie, your duties to 
your father remain precisely the same — I repeat — ^you must 
^eah of him without disrespect, or resentment, or you must 
never speak of him at all. You must think of him without 
disrespect, or resentment, or you must never think of him at 
all, except to pray for him.” 

But my mother ! OA, my mother ! can I forget her 
wrongs and sufferings ?” 

^‘Yes, Els^, yes; forget her sufferings, if you cannot re- 
member them without remembering your father’s wrong do- 
ings. Yes, forget them. Your mother, your sainted mother 
herself, would entreat you to forget.” 

“ Because she a saint ; because she an angel. But 
I am only a sinful human being, with Garnet blood in me 
besides. Oh, mother ! oh, mother !” she cried, about to break 
out again into loud lamentations, but checking the impulse by 
a great moral effort. 

She silently covered her face with her hands, and her bosom 
heaved convulsively for a while, and then grew still; and 
presently she took the hand of her husband, and resting, her 
head upon his breast, looked up into his face, saying, slowly, 

“ Qh, Magnus ! I honour you very much, indeed, from my 
soul I do ! Oh, Magnus ! I value you more and more every 
day. Sorrowful as I am, I am very blessed in being your 
wife, Magnus. You are always good and great; and I, 
though I have my moments of high and fervid moral and 
religious elevation and enthusiasm, in which I think I could 
accomplish great things for earth and heaven ; yet they pass 
away — they pass away — barren ! barren ! — except in words 
and protestations; while my sinful fits of passion are not so 
fruitless of evil as the better moods were of good. Oh, Mag- 
nus/ my strength, my light, my patient, faithful mentor 1 


DEEP DELL — COUNTRY TAVERN. 231 


strong side with my good, against my evilj be patient 
with my faults, and faithful to rebuke them ; and, sorrow- 
stricken as [ am, I will lo\e you to adoration/^ 

“ Your better moods are not so barren, dear Elsie. Wait; 
the opportunity has not been presented — in due time the har- 
vest will come.’^ 

But the countenance of Magnus began to show anxiety; 
and he urged his animals to their greatest speed. He took 
his watch out iVom time to time, and anxiously examined it. 
The prospect of their reaching Huttontown in time for the 
funeral, was each moment more remote. It was two o’clock, 
and they were not half way. The obscurity of the cloudy 
day, and the sameness of the long, long forest road, and her 
own absorption in one subject, had deceived Elsie in regard 
to time and distance, and he did not wish to affect her with 
his own anxiety. Still he urged his mules to their utmost 
speed over the dreadful road. Three o’clock came, and they 
had still fifteen miles to go. The mules went in a fast trot. 
Four o’clock came, and ten miles lay before them. Five 
o’clock came ; it wus nearly dark, and they were still several 
miles from town. At length, at a little before six, when it 
was quite dark and piercing cold, they entered Huttontown. 

Elsie had long in silence given up the hope of getting even 
to the church in time for the funeral service there ; and now 
she whispered, in a low, solemn, sorrow-fraught tone. 

Drive to the church — to the house of the sexton. We 
must see her again, if only in the vault.” 

It will be too much for you, oh, my Elsie !” 

No, no; I entreat, I implore you, take me to the vault.” 

St. John’s Church, or the New Church, as it was more com- 
monly called, from its very recent erection upon the site of 
the old one, lay about a quarter of a mile out of the village 
of Huttontown, on the up-country road. It was pitch dark, 
and biting cold, as they drove slowly and sadly through the 
village. The darkness protected them from the eyes of the 
stragglers, whom the cold had not been able to banish from street 
corners and grocery doors. As they drove slowly, sadly, and 
silently past these groups, their ears were pained by the one gene- 
ral subject of gossipping conversation — the sudden decease 
of the lady of Mount Calm, and the harshness and severity 
of her husband as the indirect cause of her death. And high 


232 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


was the love and honour manifested for the sainted victim, aLd 
deep was the regret expressed for her untimely death, and 
great was the indignation and hatred declared against the 
living tyrant. 

Elsie shuddered, and cowered nearer her husband. He en- 
circled her with his arm, and drove faster through the street. 
She whispered, falteringly, 

^^You hear, Magnus. Oh, Magnus, you hear! There is 
but one voice — all agree in one thing. But oh, Magnus, I will 
heed your lesson ; and when all men condemn him, Magnus, 
I will pray for him. But, oh, Magnus, how could the secrets 
of that house have escaped V* 

By the gossip of the servants ; if not by that, by Instinct, 
intuition. The truth is often better known, or guessed, than 
we think.^' 

They drove rapidly through the village, and turned off into 
the up-country road, and entered the thick forest. 


THE VAULT. 


233 


I 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

THE VAULT. 

Death, that hath sucked the honey of thy breath, 

Hath had no power as yet upon thy beauty ; 

Thou art not conquered ! beauty’s ensign yet 
Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks, 

And Death’s pale flag is not advanced there. — Shakspearb. 

A SILENT drive of about balf-an-bour’s length brought them 
io the deep and sheltered forest dell in which St. John’s Church 
stood. A side wall separated the church-yard from the road. 
A ruder gate gave admittance to such vehicles as entered there. 
A stile farther up the way accommodated foot passengers. 
Instead of driving through the gate into the church-yard, a 
feeling of profound reverence, induced by the awful solemnity 
of their purpose, caused them to pause at the main entrance, 
alight from their carriage, and pass humbly on foot into the 
sacred precincts of the dead. It was pitch dark ; not a star 
shone in the heavens ; the heavy sky seemed let down, and 
hung low and black over the earth. Scarcely by the fitful 
gleam of the snow-clad graves, and white spectral tombstones, 
could their dreary pathway be discerned. From the midst of 
the darkness loomed the Gothic building of St. John’s Church, 
its steeple seeming lost in the low clouds. Surrounding the 
dell was the boundless forest, whose nearer trees stood up, 
stark, and black, in strong contrast with the snow. Within 
the circle of these grim trees gleamed a single ray of red light, 
shooting in a line of crimson across the grave-yard. This 
came from the window of the old sexton’s log-house, that stood 
just within the shelter of the forest. Taking this ghostly 
light as their guide, and picking their way cautiously and re- 
verently among the tombs, they approached the lone dwelling. 
As they drew near, they saw the light flitting backwards and 
forwards in the house, and then perceived an old negro with 
a saddled mule at the gate. Before Dr. Hardcastle could 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


234 

Bpeak to ask a question, the door of the house wjIs opened, and 
the old sexton came forth, clad in a shaggy over-coat, fox-cap, 
and fur gloves, and carrying a lantern in his hand. Seeing 
t?^o strangers, he made an exclamation of surly surprise, and 
asked their business. Dr. Hardcastle drew him apart, ex- 
plained to him who they were, and what they wanted. The 
old man then changed his tone, invited them into his house, 
and, lantern in hand, slowly led the way. With plain kind- 
ness, he took the hand of Elsie, and led her to a rude arm- 
chair in the chimney corner, telling her, that being about to 
go away for the night, he had put out the fire, but that he 
would soon kindle it up again to warm her. Then going to 
an obscure corner of the room, he brought forth a quantity of 
oily pine knots, and lighting -one at the candle in the lantern, 
and placing it on the hearth and piling others around it, and 
heaping more upon them, in an instant he had a very hot fire. 
Then he turned to Dr. Hardcastle, begged him to be seated, 
and explained that he had just been summoned away to Green 
Mills to see his brother, who was dangerously ill ; that he had 
therefore to depart on the instant, lest he should not see his 
brother alive ; that if Dr. Hardcastle would dispense with his 
services, and take the keys of the church and let himself in, 
he would be very much obliged ; farther, that if Dr. Hard- 
castle should choose not to return to Hutton town in the severe 
cold, this poor cottage was at his service, with all it contained; 
only when the Doctor left, would he please to put out the fire, 
and lock up everything, both at the church and at the cottage, 
securely, and put the bunch of keys under the stone by the 
door step. Dr. Hardcastle thanked him, accepted the keys, 
promised security to all things intrusted to his care, and even 
hastened to dismiss the old man. When the sexton and the 
negro had departed, Magnus turned to Elsie, who had sat all 
this time in the arm-chair by the chimney corner, with her 
face covered by the flap of her cloak, and whispered, 

‘‘ Elsie, my dear, dear girl, pause, think ; do not insist upon 
going into the vault 

Oh, yes ! yes, I entreat you; something in my heart urges 
me beyond the possibility of keeping back ; haste ! haste, I 
implore you. I am sick with impatience while you hesitate. 
I feel as if something momentous, something tremendims hung 
upon this instant of time ; haste, haste she said. 


THE VAULT. 


235 


My darling, my poor darling, strong as yon are, this has 
been too much for you ; you are nervous, excited, flighty ; but, 
come along, I can take care of you/ ^ 

Elsie arose and took his arm, and solemnly and silently they 
passed out of the old sexton’s house, and took their mournful 
way towards the church. Solemuly and silently they entered 
its portals, and, dimly lighted by the lantern, passed up its 
shadowy aisles — silently, but for the mournful echo of theii 
footsteps. The door of the vault was situated at the side of 
the altar. Opening this door with reverential care, and still 
bearing the lantern, Magnus Hardcastle descended, followed 
by Elsie, pale with grief and awe, into its shadows. There is 
a depth of solemnity about the last resting-place of the dead 
which overwhelms the wildest sorrow with awe, and subdues 
it into death-like stillness. Magnus and Elsie entered the 
vault with profound calmness. But here was only the dark- 
ness and repose of death. The vault, like the church, was 
new. Only two mortals — an aged man and an infant — had 
been placed there to rest, just before Alice Garnet fell asleep, 
and was laid by their side. As the two mourning pilgrims 
entered, the light of the lantern partially revealed the new, 
gray stone walls, the white ground floor, and the three coffins. 
That of Alice was, of course, easily recognised. Reverently, 
mournfully, they approached and knelt by its side. With 
reverent hands Magnus raised the top of the outer case. 

A glass-plate set in the lid of the coffin, gave the features 
of the quiet face once more to the view of the mourning son 
and daughter. There was the face, even as Elsie had seen it 
often in its natural sleep ; only more serene than in slumber, 
for in her life the very sleep of Alice had seemed troubled or 
too death-like. Was this repose death-like ? Was this death ? 
Beautiful, strangely beautiful, -was that heavenly face, in its 
deep repose, in its rapt repose, for there was a look of ecsta- 
sy in the countenance, in the elastic fullness of the muscles, 
in the faint colour on the rounded cheeks, and the full and 
pouting lips. Was this death ? Some one’s reverence for the 
beautiful had left the amber ringlets straying from the close 
border of the cap, and now so life-like looked the lovely face, 
that these ringlets seemed to tremble as with a trembling 
breath. Was this death ? Was the suddenness with which 
life had left the clay, the cause of this life-like look ? There 


236 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


are moments when the most rational have wild hopes, mo- 
ments when the most habitually self-collected, doubt the evi- 
dence of their own senses ; it was thus in amaze that they 
gazed upon her countenance, seemingly instinct with life ; 
with the freshness, and fullness, and bloom of life ; the colour 
seemed brightening upon her cheeks and lips with life ; the 
eyelashes and the amber ringlets seemed quivering with life ; 
and even as they gazed with amaze, the view was obscured by 
a mist on the glass, and the beautiful countenance veiled from 
their eyes. Elsie spoke with a voice full of tears : 

Oh, Magnus ! dear Magnus ! wipe off the glass. Our 
breath, as we looked too close, has dulled it. I cannot see her 
angel face any longer for the mist upon the glass.^^ 

Magnus drew out his silk pocket-handkerchief and wiped 
the glass carefully. 

I cannot see her yet, Magnus. I cannot see her yet. Oh, 
I want to see her again, that that divine countenance may be 
indelibly fixed in my memory — oh-h-h 

Magnus wiped the glass again very carefully, looked, wiped 
it a third time most carefully, and taking up the lantern, threw 
its whole light upon the plate, rubbing it assiduously as he 
did so. Why did Doctor Hardcastle start — 

“As if the Archangel’s trump he heard?” 

The new mist upon the glass was from within the 
COFFIN. To snatch a hunting-knife from his belt, to wrench 
open the coffin-lid with one wrench of his strong hand and 
throw it off, to give her fresh air ; to snatch her from the cof 
fin to the warmth and shelter of his living arms and bosom ; 
to turn to the thunder-stricken Elsie, and exclaim, 

Elsie, don^t faint ! Be strong, I command you! Your 
mother lives ! she lives ! She has been placed here in ap- 
parent death only ; she must not recover to find herself in this 
dreadful place ; to see these grave-clothes ; to know what hor- 
rors have befallen her, lest reason be shocked for ever from its 
seat. Grive me your cloak, Elsie ! Quick 1 quick ! My God, 
douH faint, I adjure you ; I’ll never forgive you, if you faint 
now. Your cloak, I say; your cloak, quick I to throw around 
this snroud, which she must not see.” 

Elsie, with pallid lips and dilated eyes — too amazed, and 
doubtful of her own senses and sanity, to receive the joyful 


THE VAULT. 237 

trutli — with mechanical promptitude, threw off her cloak and 
handed it to Magnus. 

That’s my brave girl ] that^s my pioneer wife V’ he said, re- 
ceiving the cloak, and folding it hastily yet carefully around 
the form Jie held in his arms, and pressing it closer to his 
bosom. There, Elsie ! Now my little heroine, shade the 
lantern ; quick, Elsie, lest she open her eyes and see the place 
we bear her from. Quick, Elsie ! she is moving restlessly in 
tny arms now, and her form is getting warm, thank Heaven ; 
as warm almost as yours, my Elsie. There,- now follow me 
close behind, Elsie, my little soldier, and you may let the lan- 
tern shine as soon as we get out of the church.’^ 

And so folding the form of Alice closer in his sustaining 
arms, closer to his sheltering bosom, and followed by Elsie, 
bearing the darkened lantern, he hurried up the stairs of the 
fault, down the aisle of the church, out of the great door, and 
across the grave-yard towards the cottage of the sexton, nevei 
pausing in his speed until he reached the door of the cabin, 
which, without stopping to unlatch, he pushed open with a 
blow of his foot. 

He bore her in, followed by Elsie with the lantern. The 
fire they had left there was still burning brightly, warming and 
lighting the whole room. In the upper end of the apartment 
stood a poor but neat and cleanly bed. 

Towards this he hastened with the form of Alice. He turned 
down the cover, and hastily divesting her of the heavy cloak, 
laid her in the bed, and covered her warmly up. He stooped 
and looked at her with intense interest, then took her arm and 
felt her pulse. It was moderately full and quick. He gazed 
upon her face, the colour was still brightening in her cheeks 
and lips ; her eyelids were quivering as if about to fly open ; 
her full fresh lips were slightly apart, as if about to speak ; 
she was moving gently, breathing softly, murmuring melo- 
diously. He bent his ear to catch that low musical murmur ; 
low and musical as the faintest breath of the eolian harp. The 
words of that strange melody were : Oh, angels, let me go ! 
I — only I of all the earth love him well enough to be the in- 
strument of Christ for his redemption — I — only I of all the 
earth have faith in its possibility.'^ 

‘^Wandering, flighty, delirious," said Dr. Magnus, quietly 
dropping the wrist he had held, and rising and going towards 
15 


238 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


Elsie Elsie, I dare not leave your mother for an instant 
now. Pick up your cloak, wrap yourself well in it, take the 
lantern and haste to the gate, where we left the carriage } take 
my medicine chest from the box, and bring it hither ^ haste, 
Elsie, haste ! every second counts- a year of life.^^ 

Mechanically as an automaton, Elsie had obeyed his every 
direction. She looked unnatural with her pale face and great 
dilated eyes. And she performed her part with the abstracted 
air and literal and mathematical precision of a sleep-walker. 
With this strange, absent air she went out, and after an ab- 
sense of about fifteen minutes, returned with the medicine 
chest. 

Magnus heard her coming, and left his patient for an in- 
stant to open the door and relieve her of her burden. But 
here another subject unexpectedly arrested his attention ana 
claimed his care. As she gave the chest into his hands, she 
stared straight at him — straight through him and past him 
with such unconscious eyes, that he grew alarmed for her. 
Setting down the medicine chest upon a bench, he took her 
hands and drew her up to the fire, and laying his hand upon 
her shoulder, and looking straight in her eyes, he said, cheer- 
fully. 

Wake up, Elsie ! Bouse yourself, my child ! This is very 
awful, but not unnatural.’’ 

Oh-h-h sighed Elsie, dropping into the arm-chair. 

OJi-Ji-h ! I know it is not unnatural, or uncommon either, 
for loved ones to die, and hearts to be bereaved and broken ; 
but, dear Magnus, I am afraid I am going crazy ; I am afraid 
to tell you what I wildly imagined just now ; what an extra- 
vagant fancy I took into my head.” 

What was it, then ?” 

^^Now, don’t be too much astounded at my folly, dear Mag- 
nus, for I have been so grievously tried.” 

^^What was it, then? quick! I have no time far idle 
talk.” 

‘^Well, then, I fancied — OJi-h-h! such a mad, frenzied 
fancy — that my beloved mother was alive again. Am I not 
going mad ? I thought my dear mother was alive again I” 

And you know she is !” he exclaimed, dropping his hand 
upon her shoulder, with hearty, kindly roughness, — “you 
KNOW she iy i Bouse yourself, this moment, Elsie, I command 


THE VAULT. 


239 


vou; collect your thoughts; remember ^here you art, and 
what has occurred. What sort of behaviour is this ? ILxve I 
been premature and too partial in ascribing to you stivogth 
of mind ; courage, coolness, promptitude in emergency ? Can 
I depend upon you in extremity ? Come out of this amaze- 
ment, this instant, Elsie ! Wake up, and make yourself use- 
ful ; weakness is meanness. Be strong ; strength is grandeur. 
Be heroic; strength is heroism. Make me proud to call you 
wife. Stand up, now ; give me both your hands. Look me 
straight in the eyes, and let me see if I cannot infuse some 
sanity and strength into that amazed and fainting soul of 
yours.’^ 

Elsie placed the back of her hands against her brow, while 
she slowly arose to her feet, and then slowly throwing off her 
hands, as if to dispel an illusion, she said. 

There ; the cloud has passed, Magnus ; the weakness 
has left me ; I will be worthy of you. What is it that I can 
do, Magnus?’^ 

There ; I knew you were not a poltroon : only a fatigued 
hero, Elsie. Come, one kiss, and then to work.^^ 

And he caught her to his bosom with an ardent clasp and 
fervent kiss, that inspired from his own rich and strong 
vitality all the life, and warmth, and energy, and activity, 
that her weaker nature needed at this trying moment. Then 
he led her to the bedside of her mother, whispering as he did 
eo, 

^^Now, my own heroic wife, no relapse into weakness.^^ 

^^No, no, indeed, my strength; I will be worthy of you. 
Oh, Magnus, I think you have life enough to raise me from 
the dead, if I were to die. Oh, Magnus, I begin to realize 
now that she lives, and that I am blessed : blessed to the 
fullness of content,^’ said Elsie, sinking upon her knees, and 
raising her clasped hands and streaming eyes to Heaven. 

“ Calmly, calmly, my Elsie,'' said Magnus, laying his hand 
gently on her head. There, rise, now, and sit beside your 
mother, and watch her, and listen for her words, that we may 
know the nature of her illusion, and not rudely shock it. She 
seems in a happy trance, now — and her pulse is good, yet 
her state is so critical, that her waking must be watched for." 

Hush-h-h ! her lips move ! she speaks !" said Elsie, bend- 
ing over her. “ Oh, mother ! mother ! darling mother I warm 


240 


THE DISCAEDED DAUGHTER. 


and living, and restored to me ! What shall I render Heaven 
in exchange for thee ? Hush-h-h ! she is saying something ! 
Oh, Magnus, that look of quiet ecstasy has left her counte- 
nance, and the troubled earthly look she used to wear has 
come again ! What is the reason of it ? — oh, what is the rea- 
son of it? Oh, see how her brow contracts! how her lips 
quiver ! Oh, see her hands fly together, and clasp like vices I 
Oh, Magnus I Magnus 1 do something ! She is going into a 
spasm 

“ No, no, child, she is not — natural life is coming again. 
Her mind is taking up the train of thoughts at the place 
where it was lost. Nothing can be done as yet, but to listen 
— ^yes, listen — she speaks again — hear V* 

“ Forgive Elsie — only forgive Elsie, and I will forget that 
I have been betrayed, and scorned, and trampled under foot. 
At least I will never, never speak of it,’^ murmured Alice, in 
a heart-broken tone ; and then her hands flew up, her eyes 
flew open, and she looked around in the full possession of all 
her faculties, which was evident from the surprise with which 
she glanced upon the strange scene. 

Magnus and Elsie had drawn back, not to shock her with 
their sudden appearance. 

Yes, catalepsy, epilepsy, apparent death — whatever the 
medical faculty in their wisdom might have pronounced the 
fit to be that had held her life spell-bound for two days — was 
over, quite over, and she raised up in the full possession of all 
her senses. 

Where in the universe am I V’ she asked, rising upon her 
elbow, and looking around. Has he turned me out of doors, 
really, and has one of the negroes taken me into a quarter 
during a fainting fit? Let me recollect. What happened 
after he threw me down ? I remember nothing after that. 
‘Now die of rage,^ he said, and spurned me from him. Yes, 
that is the last link in memory’s chain. I must have fainted 
after that ; he must have thrust me out, and one of the poor 
negro women must have picked me up, and brought me to her 
quarters, and here I have recovered. Oh, I wonder how long 
I have lain in this swoon — not long. It was near daylight 
when I lost recollection. It is not quite daylight yet. Oh, 
I have not lain here long, perhaps not ten minutes. I wish 
some one would come. I want to warn them not to speak of 


THE VAULT. 


241 

this. It must not he talked of on the plantation. It must 
not get out among the neighbours. And never, never must 
£lsie hear of it — guess at it. God ! God ! save Elsie from 
this knowledge ! Let her still respect her father. Let her 
still be happy in thinking of me in my home — ^home * — my 
home. Alas ! it is not my home any longer ! I do not own 
an interest there — ^not even a wife’s interest in the homestead 
which I should have had, even had the estate come by General 
Garnet, for I have signed even that away — ^ all right, title, 
and interest.’ Yet it is my home, if not my homestead, for 
it is my husband’s place of permanent residence, and there- 
fore my home. And I must go back to it. I must beg him 
to let me in. I must, no matter how I may be received. 1 
must, no matter how I may be afterwards treated. I musty 
even if his other daughter is there to insult me. I must, to 
spare Elsie the knowledge of this. Elsie must never know- 
must never suspect this.” And Alice arose, and sitting up 
straight in bed, prepared to throw the cover off and arise, 
when Elsie sprang forward, and threw herself upon the bed, 
exclaiming, in heart-broken tones, 

Elsie does know it, darling mother. Elsie knows it all. 
God nor angels would suffer her to be kept in ignorance of it 
— of all the sufferings — of all the sacrifice that has made it 
her duty never to leave you nor forsake you again. And may 
Heaven forsake me, mother, the hour that ever I leave you 
again !” 

Oh, Elsie ! good, but rash child, have you ventured to 
come back here ? Oh, Elsie !” And Alice threw her arms 
around the neck of her daughter, and clasped her to her bosom, 
and both wept copiously. 

At last — ‘‘ Tell me what has happened, dearest child. I 
have no recollection of anything since my swoon,” said Alice, 
in a faint voice, slipping from the embrace of Elsie. 

Mother, darling mother, won’t you please to rest now, 
without asking any questions ? You must be so weak,” re- 
plied Elsie, laying her gently down, and arranging the cover 
over her. 

I feel weak, yet well, light, renewed j but I won’t ask 
questions that will pain you to answer, dear child. I am 
almost certain of what has occurred. I swooned, and was 
picked up by ore of the women and brought to this quarter, 


242 


THE DISCARDF DAUGHTER. 


and she sent for you. Dear Elsie, I am afraid she alarme<i 
you. Did Magnus come, too V’ 

Yes, dearest Mrs. Grarnet, I am here,^^ said Doctor Hard- 
castle, advancing to the bedside with a cordial in his hand. 

Elsie raised her mother once more, and taking the restora- 
tive draught, placed it to her lips. Alice drank it, and then 
said, 

Magnus, Elsie, I am afraid they have told you a dread 
ful tale of what occurred to me after you left the house. 
Dearest, you must not believe all that you may have heard, 
and you must excuse the rest. You know negroes, especially 
negio women, will exaggerate. They do not intentionally 
transcend the truth, but their quick fancies and warm sym- 
pathies lead them into extravagance. Greneral Garnet, in the 
temporary insanity of rage, has done something violent, no 
doubt but not so violent as has appeared to you, and no doubt 
he regrets his anger now. Elsie, do not think too hardly of 
your father. Give him time. All will come right at last. 
In the meanwhile, darling, I must return to the house. I 
must not seem inclined to make the most of his anger by ab- 
senting myself. Dearest Elsie, this morning we must part 
again. We will take breakfast together in this humble quar- 
ter, and then we must part, dear child, until better times. 
You must go with your husband, Elsie, and I must return to 
mine,^' said Alice, lifting up her arms, and embracing her 
child. 

Elsie looked at Magnus in despair. He stooped, and said, 
Dear Mrs. Garnet, you must sleep now. I am your phy- 
sician as well as your son. You must be silent, close your 
eyes, and lie still.^' 

I cannot, Magnus. I do not feel the least inclined to 
sleep. I feel as though I had had a very long sleep. I feel 
quite fresh and renewed, though a little weak, as from want 
of nourishment. Besides, day is breaking. It is time to rise. 
This is the day you were to depart for the back-woods, and 
you intended to have made an early start. I cannot hinder 
you. I must rise. We must have one more social meal to- 
gether, and then depart to our several auties.^^ Alice spoke 
in a low, calm tone, but covered hei face to conceal the 
quivering features. 


THE VAULT. 


243 


IMngfms seized the chance to draw Elsie aside, to whisper 
harriedly in her ear, 

‘‘ Elsie, she must know all about it. She is strong enough 
to bear the knowledge, and so it is perfectly safe to break it 
to her gently. In fact, to tell her the truth is the only safe 
plan. Her Providential recovery from apparent death must 
not be made known to any one for the present, or until Gene- 
rul Garnetts secret disposition is ascertained and can be safely 
trusted. She has nothing to hope from him; she shall have 
nothing to fear. She must be perfectly secure from his per- 
secutions and annoyances, until he is in a better frame of 
mind. This I think the safety of her life and of her reason 
demands. I consider that she is Providentially dead to Gene- 
ral Garnet and living to us. She must accompany us to the 
West. We must be en route within an hour, .lest the old 
sexton return and discovers all. Listen, I will go back to the 
church and restore everything there to such complete order, 
that no suspicion shall be excited. And while I am gone, do 
you assist her to arise, if she wishes it. When she gets up 
and looks about her, she will see where she is, and that will 
greatly prepare her for my explanation. If she asks you any 
questions, refer her to me alone for explanation. There, love, 
is the bundle of clothing you put up in your haste when about 
to leave Deep Dell. I brought it from the carriage just now, 
while you were talking with your mother. Get your double 
wrapper out, and slip it on her, before the window-shutter is 
opened. I would not have her see that garb suddenly. And 
having given these hasty directions, Magnus hurried out to 
the chapel, and having restored everything there to primal 
order, returned to the cottage. He found Alice sitting up by 
the fire with her hands clasped, and her head bowed with a 
look of deep thoughtfulness. Elsie had hung the tea-kettle 
on to make coffee, and had set the table, and was now handing 
out the contents of the old man's cupboard. 

As Doctor Hardcastle entered, Alice, without raising her 
head, held out her hand to him, saying, 

Magnus, come here. Where am I 

And Doctor Hardcastle went and drew a chair to her side, 
and took her hand, and slowly, and gently, and cautiously, 
made known to her the events of the last two days. Alice 
made nc comment. 


244 


THE DISCARIED DAUGHTER. 


The awful solemnity of the facts disclosed — the apparent 
death, the burial, veiled, softened as they were in the telling 
— overwhelmed her soul. She dropped her head upon her 
open hands, and neither moved nor spoke for a long time, or 
until Elsie came to her side, passed one arm earnestly over 
her shoulder, placed a cup of coffee at her lips with the other 
hand, bending her bright loving face smilingly upon her the 
while. Then Alice lifted up her head, took the cup, and 
kissed the gentle hand that gave it. 

While Alice drank the coffee. Dr. Hardcastle went out and 
attended to his mules. When he returned, they all gathered 
around the breakfast table. It was during that meal that he 
proposed to Alice the plan of accompanying them, urging 
upon her the strong necessity of her doing so. 

Alice combated all his arguments as well as her instincts 
taught her. 

Dr. Hardcastle avowed his intention of accompanying her 
back to Mount Calm, and remaining in the neighbourhood, in 
case of her perseverance in her present intention of returning. 
Alice sought to dissuade him from that plan. 

Finally, after much talk, Alice agreed to accompany them 
on the first stage of their journey as far as Deep Dell, and 
remain there incognito, while he should return to Mount 
Calm, and ascertain the disposition of Gleneral Grarnet, and, 
if possible and prudent, break gradually to him the fact of 
his wife^s unexpected restoration to life. 

Having agreed upon this plan. Doctor Hardcastle made 
rapid preparations for the re-commencement of their journey. 
They — he and Elsie — restored everything about the cottage 
to complete order; put out the fire, fastened up the cupboard, 
and the windows, and then the doors, and tying a little purse 
of money to the door-key, by way of compensation for all they 
had used, hid it under the stone by the door-step,^ ^ as re- 
quested, enter 3d the carriage, and commenced their journey. 


THE CHILDREN OE THE ISLE. 


245 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

THE CHILDREN OF THE ISLE. 

Their earliest steps have wandered from the green and fertile land, 
Down where the clear blue ocean rolled, to pace the rugged strand j 
They proudly flung the proffered bribe and gilded toy away, 

To gather up the salt sea-weed, or dabble in the spray ; 

They shouted to the distant crew, or launched their mimic bark, 
They met the morning freshness there, and lingered till the dark; 
And still their souls are as they were, and as they e’er will be, 
Loving and wild as what they love, the curbless, mighty sea. 

Eliza Cook. 

The little sea-girt homeland of Hutton^s Isle had never 
recovered from the fatal devastation of the great tempest and 
flood. The fences had never been re-constructed strong and 
complete as before. The house had never been properly re- 
paired. All the little mending and rebuilding that had been 
done had been the joint work of Miss Joe and her factotum 
Pontius Pilate. And these slight repairs were of such a tem- 
porary character as to require renewal every few months. 
And every year the house sank and fell, and grew more ruin- 
ous and dilapidated. And every year the isle became more 
desolate and desert. Every season the soil was less produc- 
tive, and the crop poorer. The oyster-banks had failed entirely. 
The fisheries were becoming precarious. Nothing remained 
in primeval abundance except the flocks of water-fowl that 
still flew in vast clouds over the isle, darkening the very air at 
certain times, like night or storm. 


246 THE DISOAKHED DAUGHTER. 

So much for the house and isle. Now for the inmates and 
inhabitants. 

From having been always poor, they were now upon me 
verge of penury — destitution. Miss Josephine Cotter, the 
good fairy of this sea-girt isle, was, to use her own expression, 
growing older and older every day of her life. She did not 
know, she said, which was most likely to topple down first, 
she or her old house. This being the case, the good woman, 
who was completely consistent in her provident thrift, began 
to think of making some provision for her soul’s eternal future. 
And to this end she worked hard night and day, at weaving a 
fine yarn counterpane, which, when completed, she took to 
Huttontown, to the village store, to exchange for a Bible and 
prayer-book. So far, so good. But, alas ! no sooner had the 
saving soul possessed herself of these treasures — the nice new 
brown leather-bound Bible and red morocco prayer-book — than 
lier old passion of care-taking returned upon her in full force, 
and prevailed to such an extent, that without even suffering 
the leaves to be opened, she laid her new books upon the top 
of the chest of drawers, along with other treasures of strictly 
ornamental character, such as a little black japanned waiter, 
with a wine-glass and tumbler, a plaster effigy of the Virgin 
and Child in a little glass case, and a Dutch picture of the 
Disciples gathering up the twelve baskets of fragments, that 
nothing might be lost; and which, by the way. Miss Joe said, 
was the only picture she ever could see any sense in. And 
here lay her new purchases, and upon no pretext whatever 
would she suffer them to be taken down, or even touched. No, 
indeed; they cost too much to be used, and were a great deal 
too nice to be handled ; for books were not like other things — 
if they should be torn or soiled, they could not be either 
washed or mended, and that proved they ought not to be 
used. So to keep people out of the way of temptation. Miss 
Joe 'would not even suffer the leaves of her Bible and prayer- 
book to be cut. 

Under the accumulating weight of years and infirmities, 
and troubles that increased in an inverse ratio with her ability 
to bear up against them, the excellent old lady was beginning 
to lose something of that extraordinary industry, energy, and 
enterprise that had distinguished her; though she declared that 
she nev^r experienced the slightest consciousness of fatigue 


THE CHILDREN OF THE ISLE. 


247 


or weariness, until she would sit down — which instigated sauc^ 
little Nettie to advise her to keep moving. The death of Pon 
tins Pilate in the beginning of the winter, and a severe attack 
of ikeumatism in her limbs, had seemed to be the climax of the 
poor old lady's misfortunes. It was now that she avowed her- 
self ‘'ready to sit down and give right up, and let everything 
go straight to the dogs;" it was now that the bread she had cast 
upon the waters, returned to her hands fraught with blessing. 
The old lady had not a friend or relative in the wide world. 
There w^^s not a human being in the wide world upon whom 
she had she slightest claim of kinship or friendship, for suc- 
cour and assistance. She was desolate in all the desolation 
conveyed by the words, old, poor, and alone; alone, but for 
society of the children she had succoured years ago — these 
children, the thought of whose possible want and sufferings, 
burdened Lor heart far more than any personal fear for her- 
self, Care, -enderness for the young, was one of the strongest 
instincts in that rugged nature. All her toiling, saving, 
managing, indeed, had always been for some nephew, or grand- 
nephew, or little cousin — never for herself. All her late 
efforts had bcren made in behalf of Hugh and Garnet; — to 
make somethiiig, to save something for them. But all her 
struggles had been vain, or only served, as she said, ‘Ho keep 
things a little together," up to this time. And now, in her 
old age, she wi^s left destitute. And now, in the depth of 
winter, absolute want was staring her in the face. It was im- 
mediately after the burial of Pontius Pilate, that Miss Joe 
was sitting dovvn in the depth of despair, with her apron 
thrown over hei head, and her head bowed upon her knees, 
Hugh and Garnet suddenly stood before her 

“Don't cry any more, granny. I. and Nettie can work the 
farm," said Hugh, in a cheerful, confidant tone. 

“You and Nettie work the farm!" replied Miss Joe, look- 
ing up with pity, anger, and contempt, in the expression of 
her countenance, and in the tone of her voice. To her, a 
woman past sixty, the boy of twelve and the girl of nine, 
seemed yet infants. “ You and Nettie work the farm I" 
“Yes, granny, and haul the wood, and fish, and shoot — 
“Pah, pah ! Hush talking; you make my head ache." 

Granny, I have sometimes taken the plough from Pont, 


248 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


and ploughed a row for fun. I know a little practice would 
make me perfect at that.” 

G-ranny, Hugh can hoe up the hills, and I can drop corn. 
Hugh can cut wood, and I can fetch and carry it. And now, 
as there is no fish near the Isle, Hugh can go out in the boat, 
and I can go with him to bait his hooks, and look after the 
basket.^^ 

Oh, yes. You can do anything that will give you an ex- 
cuse to hang on to Hugh’s coat tails.” 

And the old lady covered her head with her apron, and be- 
gan rocking to and fro, and groaning bitterly, 

^^If it weren’t for this rheumatiz, I could do everything 
myself ; I know I could ! But here it is ; if I go out in 
the wind or wet, I am laid up with racking pains ; if I try 
to do up a washing of clothes, I am laid up helpless with 
racking pains. Oh, dear ! — ^if only one of the plagues was 
taken away, I could bear all the rest cheerfully. If the 
rheumatiz was taken away, I could get along with poverty. 
Or if poverty was taken away, along o’ the need of expos- 
ing myself to the wind and rain and snow, I could get 
along very comfortable with the rheumatiz ; but both 
together ! Oh, it do seem to me as if Grod A’mighty had 
forgotten me.” 

Pray to Him ! remind Him of you that way, granny 
said Hugh. ^^But He hasn’t forgotten you, granny; it is 
more likely you that have forgotten Him. He has not forgot- 
ten you, for He has put it into my head and heart to do a 
hundred things I should never have thought of doing before 
Oh, granny, never you fear ; a living can be made off of 
this little place yet. The fish have forsaken its shores, it’s 
true, and the oyster-bank has given out — but there are shoals 
of maninosies, granny; and I intend to collect them every 
day, and carry them to the village to sell. The money 
will get us what groceries we want. That’s one resource; 
and then there are ninety-nine others — too many to talk 
about. As for you going out in the wind and wet, and putting 
your hands in the wash tub, you shan’t do it, granny ; I’ll do 
it myself.” 

“You? If I wa’n’t so sorrowful, I could laugh I Who 
ever heard tell of a man even doing the washing, much less 
^hoyr 


THE CHILDREN OF THE ISLE. 


249 


If I were a man, you may depend I would do everything 
that needed to be done ; and now I am but a boy, why not do 
everything I can do, whether it be woman’s work or man’s 
work ? Indeed, granny, I am so very strong ' I am stronger 
than a grown-up woman, anyhow.” 

He was. Like all the sons of his hardy race, Hugh Hutton 
was a model of Herculean strength and beauty. It is true, 
that up to this time, this iron force had been employed, ay, 
and augmented, by the wild sports of the sea coast and the 
Isles. But now — well did Hugh keep his word to supply the 
place of Pontius Pilate. 

And do you guess all the hard and manifold work the 
boy did ? 

It was the dead of winter — the earth was frozen hard, and 
two feet deep with snow, crusted with ice. All the wood that 
was burned on the Isle had to be cut and hauled from the 
forest behind Huttontown, and brought over to the Isle in a 
boat. And the boy, with no implements but a hatchet, a small 
wheelbarrow, and a little row boat, performed all that labour 
alone, until one day, when he had made very slow progress, 
and effected very little, and returned home near frozen, from 
having been so long at work in the snow and among the ice- 
clad trees. 

Then Net^'e threw herself into a violent paroxysm of excite- 
ment, and vowed that she would go with him the next day to 
help him gather wood in the forest. And she went. And 
while Hugh cut the brush and the lighter branches of the dead 
trees, Nettie would break them up and pile them in the wheel- 
barrow, enlivening the earnest, thoughtful boy all the time with 
her wild and joyous talk. 

Nettie ! Child of the lonely red Isle ! — solitary in her re- 
splendent life as the sea-girt Isle she dwelt upon; glad and 
bright as the sunlit waters that danced and flashed around it; 
free, wild, and impetuous as the wind that blew over it ; loving 
as the blessed sunshine that bathed it ; beautiful and glorious 
as the whole divine panorama of nature around her; how shall 
I describe her ? Full of harmony, and beauty, and fragrance, 
and softness, and fire, was that rich nature. Full of electri- 
city as a torpedo was that intense and concentrated life. A 
whole creation of nature was crowded into it. Brilliant as a 
fire-fly talkative as a magpie, joyous as a lark, proud as a pea> 


250 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


cock, loving as a turtle-dove, was Nettie ! Tliose are onlj 
gome of the birds. She was kin to all the beasts, too. Brave 
as a lion, fierce as a tiger, fleet as a deer, agile as a goat, mirth- 
ful, mischievous, and imitative as a monkey, yet gentle as a 
lamb, was N ^ttie ! A concentrated, double extract of every- 
thing; a minute, intense microcosm was Nettie! But the 
great, distinguishing trait in her singular character, was her 
confiding trust in all things and all persons. She was without 
fear and without doubt. She possessed a nature that received 
only all the surrounding good and repulsed all the evil. She 
recognised and elicited all the goodness and beauty that was in 
persons and things about her, and ignored all the illness and 
deformity. She seemed, one might say, blind to evil, or per- 
haps it would be more correct to say, she was strangely pro- 
tected from its knowledge and influence. Highly imaginative 
as she was, her fancy escaped from the hard and bitter reali- 
ties of her actual life, and revelled amid images of love, beauty, 
freedom, glory. 

It was in the arm of the forest that girdled the foot of Mount 
Calm, where they usually cut wood ; and now, when the ground 
was white with snow, and the forest trees covered with ice, 
and sparkling and corruscating in the rays of the sun, Nettie 
would shout with delight as her blazing eyes would flash around 
upon the flashing scene : 

This is an enchanted forest, such as we read of in the fairy 
book. Oh, it is I The trees are all of gold, with emerald 
leaves, and ruby fruits, and sapphire flpwers. Oh, don’t you 
see it is ? See, how the emeralds sparkle, and the rubies burn, 
and the sapphires blaze. And all the ground is covered over 
with fine pearls and diamonds, thick as dust. See, how they 
glif’.ten. Oh, this is a great enchanted forest, and here lives 
some powerful fairy or potent magician, who will one day 
make me a great Princess ! — See, if he don’t, that’s all. 
And then I know who shall be Prince when I am a Prin- 
cess.” 

And then all the energy of exuberant life and joy that was 
in the child would break out into the wildest extravagances. 
And it would be impossible to guess how much or how little 
she might believe of her own fairy tale. And so her wild, 
elfish imagination would light up and purple with its fancies 
every scene in which she might be called to figure. Ti seemed 


THE CHILDREN OF THE ISLE. 


251 


impossible for Nettie to feel cold. The more piercing the cold, 
the brighter blazed her crimson cheeks and lips, the fiercer 
flashed her eyes, the more joyous were her screams and 
laughter, the wilder were her fancies. 

“ See the jewels in my hair, Hugh ! See the pearls and 
diamonds in my hair. The powerful, and munificent fairy 
Frostina, who dwells in this enchanted forest, has touched the 
little Islander with her wand, and lo ! her hair is sparkling 
with priceless gems V* she would cry, holding up the long, long 
tresses of her rich dark hair, with her breath congealed to frost 
upon them. 

Nettie became the shadow of Hugh, or rather the ray, the 
sun-beam, the fire glow that followed him whithersoever he went. 
Wood-chopping, fishing, trapping, gunning, no matter what the 
hard labour or the dangerous sport was that took Hugh from 
home, Nettie would accompany him. Sometimes, on tempest- 
uous days. Miss Joe would lay her commands on the little’ 
water-witch to stay in-doors, but Nettie, with the agility of a 
monkey, and the face of a Newfoundland dog, would spring 
upon the old lady, overwhelm her with wild and rude caresses, 
until she cried Mercy I” and then bound off and rush out 
after Hugh. 

When night came the children would return together with 
a load of brush, a basket of maninosies, a bunch of partridges, 
or a string of fish, and sometimes with all these things together. 
Then after their frugal supper, while the old lady would sit 
und knit, and doze in her chair, the children would sit upon 
the hearth reading one of the two books that composed their 
whole library — ‘‘ Tooke’s Pantheon, or Heathen Mythology,” 
and the Fairy Book.” Both these books were worlds of 
delight to Nettie. She received, without a doubt, every word 
of both. She believed every syllable of the Pantheon most 
devoutly. To her, Pan and the wood-nymphs still roamed 
through the forest; Neptune, Amphytrite and the Nereides 
still lived in the deep, deep sea. And if any one had pretended 
disbelief in the existence of these beings, Nettie’s wild laugh 
of surprise and incredulity would have put such an one to 
shame. She knew that the gods did live. True — she had 
Aever seen Pan and the wood-nymphs distinctly face to face — 
though she had been on the lookout for them ever so lopg; 
but she had fften, very often in the twilight caught glimpses 


252 THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 

of them as they flitted through the forest trees and vanished 
out of her sight. And as for Neptune, Amphy trite and the 
Nereides, she had seen them frequently. Of an afternoon 
when she would be upon the beach, when the sun was setting 
in a blaze of glory, and the sea was clear and deep, and reflect- 
ing all the purple and golden and crimson clouds, she had 
looked down into the deep, profound waters, and vaguely as 
through a golden haze, discerned Amphy trite and the sea- 
nymphs floating languidly, luxuriously through their sea palaces 
of amber and coral. She talked of Zephyr and the Sylphs, too 
but they were delicate spirits, she said, and would not mani- 
fest themselves. She liked Boreas better. Boreas was her 
good friend. She used to stop amid her evening reading when 
the winter wind howled around the house, and laugh aloud, 
and say, 

Thafs Boreas, growling for me to come out and have a 
romp with him. No I won’t, old fellow; you buffet me too 
roughly winter’s nights.” 

She worshipped Apollo. She vowed she knew that she 
was the child of the sun. That he had given her those glow- 
ing, crimson cheeks and lips — that lustrous black hair, with 
the rings of red fire glittering around the long spiral curls — 
and that warm blood that the fierce cold could not freeze or 
chill. She believed in the fairies also, but not with the 
ardent enthusiastic love and faith with which she received the 
Pantheon. She could very often see the fairies upon moon- 
light nights ; when the frothy waves were breaking softly on 
the beach, she could dimly perceive their gossamer forms 
rising and falling, flitting and dancing between the sea and 
land. Like an enchanted child of some wild Eastern tale, she 
lived a charmed life. From the midst of the coarsest, hardest, 
bitterest realities of poverty, her spirit escaped to revel in the 
gorgeous panorama of nature, and in the free and joyous World 
of imagination, peopled by her own illusions. It was useless 
for Hugh to combat her fancies, to persevere in telling her 
that no such beings as the daily companions of her thoughts 
ever existed. Her look of wonder and pity, her wild ringing 
laugh of incredulity and triumph, would disconcert him. If 
he told her there was but one God, Nettie’s countenance 
would become overshadowed with an awful solemnity, and she 
would whisper in a hushed tone of awful reverence, I knew 


THE CHILDREN OF THE ISLE. 253 


that there is hut one God above all gods ; He dwelleth high 
in the highest Heavens V* and then, as if the subject was 
too solemn for her wild nature, she would break away 
or change it. And the earnest, thoughtful, practical boy, 
Hugh, would watch her, love her, bear her on hiis sou^ 
and up with his prayers to that awful Throne she shrank 
from. 

16 


254 


THE DISCAh3ED DAL’aHTER. 


CHAPTER XXXin. 

THE MANINOSIE GATHERERS, 

Hurrah for him ! the wind is up, it bloweth fresh and free, 

And every chord, instinct with life, pipes out its fearlesr glee.. 

Mothekwell. 


Ah ! ’twas to her a glorious sight. 

To gaze on ocean’s ample face ; 

An awful joy, a deep delight. 

To see his laughing waves embrace 

Each other in their frolic race. — George Lunt. 

It was late in the afternoon of a stormy day, near the end 
of December, that the two children, Hugh Hutton and Garnet 
Seabright, might have been seen wandering on the cold, bare, 
snow-clad, north-west beach of Hutton’s Isle. 

Hugh was at this time a fine, handsome, athletic boy of 
twelve and a half years of age ; tall, broad-shouldered, deep- 
chested, strong-limbed, with the high Roman features, dark 
complexion, and commanding countenance of all his race ; a 
noble boy, undisguised even by the old, worn, faded, and 
patched suit of homespun cloth in which he was clad. Bit- 
terly cold as it was, his head and feet were bare — hare^ be- 
cause though Miss Joe might shear the sheep, and card and 
spin the wool, and knit him socks enough, yet shoes and hats 
co.«»t a great deal more money than Miss Joe or Hugh could 
often get together, and so shoes and hats were luxuries and 
elegancies only to be indulged in on Sundays and high holi- 
days. 


THE MANINOSIE GATHERERS. 


255 


Garnet Seabright was now about ten years of age ; a beau- 
tiful, brilliant, sun-burned, or rather mn-gilded brunette, 
whom the sea air and sun-rays had made as hard, bright, 
dark, and resplendent, as the burning, crimson, sea-coast gem, 
whose name she bore. Child of Apollo and Amphytrite she 
was. Her eyes were large, dark, and burning bright ; hex 
rich and glossy hair seemed jet black in the shade, but emitted 
gleams of red light wherever the sun shone upon it; her com- 
plexion was rich and glowing; she wore a dress of scarlet 
country cloth, with coarse shoes and s ockings, and a coarse 
straw hat ; — and altogether, her bright presence warmed and 
illumined the cold, bleak desolation of the sea-coast, like some 
cheerful fire. She followed close behind Hugh, stopping 
whenever he stopped, and digging with a little stick wherever 
the little round holes in the sand indicated the presence of 
the maninosies, left by the subsiding wind and ebbing tide 
upon the beach. Very necessary was it that they should fill 
their basket, for very little else had they at home for supper. 

Their task was finished just as the clear, red winter’s sun 
sank to a level with the horizon, lighting up all the bay like a 
sea of fire. 

The boy and girl having filled their basket, put it down, and 
seated themselves upon a large stone ; not from fatigue — they 
were far too strong, and too much inured to toil and hardship 
to feel it now — but from that mood of idleness which will 
come sometimes over even the most active and energetic na- 
tures, and also from that deep, unspoken, but high, exulting 
love of free, wild nature, which was the peculiar characteristic 
of these sea-coast children. 

As they sat there, the attitude, bearing, and expression of 
countenance of Hugh was calm, high, proud, and self-reliant. 
One might have said, that with the coming tide of the ocean 
his soul was filling with strength and gladness. 

But the brightness of G-arnet’s brilliant face was overcast 
and clouded, and the glad song that was ever on her jocund lip 
was silenced. 

Her long fit of taciturnity at length aroused Hugh from his 
cheerful revery ; and, putting his arm around her waist, and 
drawing her closer to him, he asked. 

What is the matter, Nettie ? — I never saw you so serious 
and silent.’’ 


256 JHE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 

'^Matter! I will never go to that school in Huttonto^n, 
again — never ! I have tried it a week now, and I will not 
try it any longer. I cannot stand it — indeed I cannot, Hugh. 
Thank Heaven, this is New Year’s Eve ! I went there before 
the holidays, because I knew no better than to go. If I go 
there again, it will be my own fault.^’ 

Well might Hugh open wide his eyes with amazement, at 
the looks and words of his little companion. Was this Nettie ? 
— the confiding, joyous Nettie? It was incredible. But he 
concluded that this new development of character was caused 
by some new revelation of the little world to which the wild 
child had been lately introduced ; and he answered calmly, by 
asking her a cool question — 

But why don’t you like your school. Garnet ? You ought 
to like it. You ought to be very glad, and even very grateful, 
for this opportunity of getting an education. I am sure I 
should be both glad and thankful if the opportunity were of- 
fered we, and I had the leisure to accept it.” 

And wasn’t I ? Very happy and very grateful I was when 
Parson Wilson told me that I might come to his day school 
for nothings Very glad and thankful I was. You know I 
danced with joy. Oh I it was because I did not know the 
school-girls would call me the charity scholar, and the poor 
people’s child, that couldn’t pay for her schooliug ; that they 
would gather themselves together, and edge away from me, 
when we all should go out to play. Oh, Hugh ! 1 could not 
understand it at first, to save my life. I would keep on fol- 
lowing them up, and talking with them, and laughing with 
them — because I felt so happy and sociable — and still they 
would go off from me, and still I couldn’t understand their 
meaning, Hugh; but I sat and thought, and thought; and 
brooded over it ; and wondered, and wondered. But, Hugh, 
all the time they were forcing their meaning on me, and 
grinding their meaning into me, until at length, Hugh, away 
here at the end of the week, I took it. I now understand 
them ; and I will never go back to that school again. I will 
never put myself in the way of being treated so again.” 

Dear Nettie, do not' say so. Dear Nettie, be patient. 
The treatment you complain of — ” 

don’t complain of it. I scorn it !” exclaimed Nettie, 
bounding like a young lioness to her feet. 

Well, then, this behaviour that you scorn will not last 


THE MANINOSIE GATHERERS 257 

.ong It was because you were a stranger that th 3y treated 
yod JO at first. That was so natural, you know, Nettie. 
Evon the very birds peck and bite at a stranger that comes 
amcng them at first. But afterwards they are sociable and 
loving enough, you know. So it will be with your school- 
mated. Little girls cannot behave so long. Next week you 
will find they will treat you very kindly. And week after 
next, •'hey will be wishing to give you of all their little trea- 
sures. All the little girls I ever knew in my life were really 
good under all their little imitative airs of worse grown peo- 
ple. I’hey will be forcing everything they can gather on you 
next w\sek” 

I d-"* not want their kindness ; I do not want their things I 
I would rather give people things, than let people give me 
things ; /or one makes me feel proud, and the other makes 
me feel fiumble. ‘ It is more blessed to give than to receive* 
I underUand that text of Scripture now, if I never did before. 
They have made me understand it ; they have made me feel 
it; the) have rubbed it well into me T’ 

‘^No, dearest Nettie, you do not understand or feel the 
holiness and beauty of that text. If to give makes you feel 
proud, and to receive makes you feel humbled, you are very 
far from understanding that Scripture, and farther yet from 
feeling it.^^ 

Without heeding his reproof. Garnet continued in the same 
strain : 

Then it seemed so. natural that I, who had no money, 
should not be expected to pay, that it never struck me as 
degrading. Now they have made it appear very different; 
and I will never go to that school again. They are all rich 
people’s daughcers who go there; they looked down upon me; 
they made me feel ashamed of my homespun frock and sun- 
burnt face ; they made me feel mean. I will never, never for- 
give them for making me feel so. I will never, never forgive 
myself for feeling so !” 

No, never forgive yourself for being made to feel mean ! 
They could not have made you feel so without your own con- 
sent — that is certain,” said Hugh, indignantly. 

Still, without seeming to notice his rebuke. Garnet pro- 
ceeded — 

“ Here on our Island — poor as they say it is — poor as they 


258 THE DISCAJIDED DAUGHTER. 

say we are — I was always free and glad and proud. I was 
the child of Amphytrite, and Queen of the Isle, the sea, and 
the winds ! And the birds and fishes and sea-fowl were my 
subjects. I was queen of them all, and akin to them all. 
Yes, akin to the waters, winds, and birds, and fishes ! 1 

loved them all, and they loved me. I romped with them all, 

■ — I flew away with the birds, when they would arise and take 
wing over the wide waters ! I dived with the fishes when 
they would glance down to the bottom of the deep, clear sea. 
At least I felt so. Every body loved me here, and every 
thing loved me. Many a romp have I had with the buffet- 
ing wind. And, oh ! when I have stood upon the beach and 
laughed aloud at the leaping waves dancing, foaming, spark- 
ling, breaking on the shore, ha ! ha ! hurrah ! it was because I 
knew they were laughing at me also. And oh ! of nights — 
of starlight nights, when I could not sleep ; when I have left 
my little bed and come out of doors ; and everything would 
be so calm and silent — the great lonely ocean, and the great 
lonely sky, with its myriads of bright stars looking down on 
me so steadily, so smilingly, I could almost hear them whisper 
and say, ^ This is our little girl — this is our queer child P 
And I could look up and laugh, because I was so happy — 
always happy day and night. But now — ” 

Well, but nowr 

But now I shall never be happy again. Now I know I 
am not the daughter of Amphytrite, and the little Queen of 
the Bay Isle. Now I know I am nothing but a poor miserable 
little orphan girl, dependent on the young Methodist preacher 
for her schooling, if she gets any, and despised by her school- 
mates — by her rich schoolmates ! Why am I not rich, too ? 
Or why are they not poor like me ? Why are not all rich, or 
else all poor? — or, what is better still, all neither rich nor 
poor, but half-way between V* 

‘‘ Why, if there was to be such a general division, and all 
were to be equally well off, it would not last long. Idle, ex- 
travagant, and worthless people, and generous, liberal, mag- 
nanimous people would lose and spend their means, and im- 
poverish themselves and their children ) while careful, thrifty, 
industrious folks, and selfish, stingy, grasping, sordid folks, 
would accumulate and increase their means and enrich them 
selves ar,d their heirs.'' 


THE MANINOSIE GATHERERS. 


259 


I donH feel wliat you say. I know I haven’t been idle 
or extravagant, and I know I don’t deserve to be poor — at 
least, so poor as to be despised. It is not just and fair. I 
know and feel that it is not just and fair for all them to be so 
rich, and for me to be so poor. For them to scorn me for 
that misfortune, which I cannot help, and which should be 
respected if it is a misfortune. Why should they have wealth 
while I have need ? They do not deserve it more than I do. 
They do not deserve it as much; for if /had wealth I would 
not scorn the poor. If / had wealth, there should be no poor 
around me. Oh, I wish — how I do wish I was rich !” 

^‘Nettie, do you remember our pastor’s text and sermon 
last Sunday week — ‘ It is easier for a camel to go through the 
eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of 
Heaven ?’ ” 

“ Yes, I do ; and I remember feeling very uneasy for the 
rich people who were there, and I looked at them, but they 
did not seem to be very much alarmed.” 

Do you not recollect that he proved to us all very cleaily 
that riches could not make any of us happy?” 

Yes, I know he said so, but he didn’t look as if he believed 
it ; and I, for my part, should like very much to try it all by 
myself alone, and then I should feel more certain about it. 
Oh, Hugh, how I want to be rich, that I may hold up my 
head among the best of them. Oh, Hugh, dear Hugh, haven’t 
I got any very wealthy relatives anywhere — away off in the 
West, or the North, or across the seas in the Old Country, who 
might hear of me, and give me a great fortune ?” 

“No, indeed, Nettie; you have no near relations at all, 
and your distant ones are all very poor.” 

“ Oh, Hugh, all I ask of fate, in this world, is only one 
thing — wealth ; and it seems there is not a bit of chance of 
my getting it.” 

“ I have heard of the curse of a granted prayer. Garnet,” 
said Hugh, sadly. 

“ Oh, Hugh, I should like to be just a little bit cursed 
with riches. Oh, Hugh, what golden days were those, when 
old granny in the corner always turned out to be a powerful 
and beneficent fairy, and turned pebbles into gems, pumpkins 
into coaches, and mice and rats into horses and footmen. And 
when poor little despised and forsaken Cinderella wept to gr 


260 


THE DISCARDED DAUaHTER. 


to the Prince’s Ball, with a single wave of the wand, turned 
all her rags to splendid apparel, and sent her off in a coach 
and six ! Oh, Hugh, I have been waiting these many years 
to see our old granny in the corner, cast her slough and come 
out a young, beautiful, potent, and beneficent fairy queen, 
who would turn this barren island into a great kingdom, and 
that ruined lodge into a magnificent palace. And the sand 
and pebbles into gold-dust and diamonds, and the ducks and 
geese into lords and ladies, and you and me into king and 
queen. But, oh dear ! I am almost tired of waiting. Pm 
beginning to fear that granny will never be anything but what 
she insists that she is — ‘ a poor old creetur, killed up with the 
rheumatiz;’ and you and I will never be anything but what 
we now are — two poor children.” 

Begging your pardon, I think we shall be man and wo- 
man some of these days. Now be hopeful, my dear Gfarnet. 
I tell you that the fairy of your fancy really does exist.” 

What ! a fairy who will turn this island into a kingdom ; 
this lodge into a palace ; the sand and pebbles into gold-dust 
and precious stones ?” 

Yes, yes ; a hundred times yes.” 

Where, Hugh, where ?” 

Here !” said Hugh Hutton, tapping his own forehead, 
significantly. ^‘But be easy. Garnet; be easy, or else be 
anxious for better things. I will make a fortune for you, and 
more than that, I will make position, rank, honour for you I 
You SHALL ‘ hold up your head with the highest in the land.’ 
Not because you are wealthy, but because you will stand by 
my side, and I will stand — high ! I know it; I feel it, Net- 
tie; and I can wait arid work for it.” 

Oh, Hugh, my brother ! I do love you so dearly !” 

Only be good, and be easy, Nettie, and do the duty of 
the present hour. Do you recollect, sister, the subject of our 
pastor’s sermon only the last Sunday that ever was ?” 

No, I did not heed it much. I was too busy watching 
that bright, beautiful Miss Elsie. Miss Garnet, of Mount 
Calm. How lovely, how charming she looked ; so radiant ! 
softly radiant, like a light, silvery cloud floating high in the 
heavens among the sun-rays. Now I did not mind her being 
so very wealthy.^ It seemed to be all right that she should be 
raised above all the hardness and roughness and coarseness of 


THE MANINOSIE GATHERERS. 


201 


-lie earth. She was so soft, so fair, so airy. I was glad to 
rtee her wrapped in the beautiful blue satin mantle, with the 
white swan^s-down around her throat ; and to see her lovely 
face in the delicate white bonnet, with the floating gossamer 
veil and plumes. They seemed to suit her. I was happy to 
see her waited on to her splendid carriage by so many gentle- 
men. It looked right that she should be so served. I was 
glad to see that splendid carriage, with the prancing gray 
horses, and smart coachman, and footmen, roll off so slowly 
and grandly towards Mount Calm. And I gazed up at the 
fine mansion-house on the hill, and thought that it was all right 
that such a beautiful and radiant creature should have such a 
handsome house to dwell in. Because I do not see how she 
could live in any other way.^^ 

Humph ! What would you think, Nettie, if I should teU 
you that I saw that ^beautiful and radiant creature,^ that deli- 
cate and elegant lady, who seemed born only to live in palaces, 
ride in carriages, be attended by trains of gentlemen, and 
served by slaves dressed as gentlemen — and to wear only soft 
clothes, and touch only soft things, and smell only sweet and 
fragrant odours, and see only beautiful sights, and hear only 
harmonious sounds — to listen only to words of praise and flat- 
tery ! What would you say if I were to tell you that I saw 
that lady, wrapped in a coarse brown cloak, with a brown silk 
hood, sitting in an emigrant wagon, drawn by mules ; sitting 
by the side of her husband, among boxes, bundles, and house- 
hold utensils ; about to start for the back-woods ; to live in a 
log cabin in the wilderness ; to sleep hard, and to fare hard, 
and worh hard ; to be the only housekeeper and servant in 
her husband^s cabin — to cook, and wash, and iron, and scour, 
if need be, while her husband should till the ground, or track 
the deer, or visit his patients — if he should get any. What 
would you think if I should tell you that she looked happier 
than you ever saw her look ? Yes, with a diviner happiness. 
What would you think. Garnet 

Well, sure I should think you were telling me a fairy 
tale, or else that I was dreaming one.^' 

Yet, Nettie, what I have told you is strictly true. Net- 
tie, when I bade her good-bye^ before the tavern door of 
Huttontown, I would have knelt and kissed the hem of her 


262 THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 

garment, and prayed for her blessing, as if she had been saint 
or augel/^ 

^‘And you do not say that it is true? that the lovely lady 
left all her ease, and luxury, and wealth, and splendour, to go 
to a log cabin in the wilderness, to hard work and to hard 
living said Nettie, with her starry eyes agaze. 

Yes.^' 

And that she was willing to go 

it Yes.” 

^^And happy?” 

Divinely happy !” 

What was the mystery T* 

A mystery of a single word, whose full, deep meaning I 
only dimly apprehend myself, Nettie — but I do know that it 
is a religion — Love !” 

Love ?” 

Yes, dear Nettie. But come; Het us do the duty of the 
present hour,^ as our minister said. And it does seem to me 
that the duty of the present hour is to take this basket of 
maninosies home to Aunt Joe, who must be waiting for 
them.” 

And smiling, with his grave, sweet smile, Hugh Hutton 
arose, lifted the basket of shell-fish to his shoulders, and gave 
his hand to Nettie. 

As they turned towards home, they perceived that the 
cottage windows already gleamed with the light of the even- 
ing he 


THE FOOTSTEP 


263 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

THE FOOTSTEP. 

When fortune means to men most good, 

She looks upon them with a threatening eye. 

SuAKSPEABl. 

The fire light gleamed redly through the cottage windows 
on the snow, as the boy and girl approached and opened the 
door. 

The night was closing in very dark and cold. The slight 
moisture in the air was congealing, and settling in the form of 
heavy, cold vapour, all over the island and the surrounding 
waters, and enveloping everything in a cold, shroud-like 
mist. 

Very welcome was the warmth and shelter of the poor lodge, 
bare and bleak as it was. The room had undergone few 
changes, since we saw it last. The broad fire-place, with its 
great iron fire-dogs, still spread out its wide flanks, requiring 
almost a quarter of a cord of wood to fill it. A great fire of 
brush was blazing there now. The shelves of the corner cup- 
board on the right still shone resplendent with rows of pewter 
plates, and gay with variegated delf-ware, chosen by Miss Joe, 
because, she said, their mixed colours wouldn’t show dirt. 
An innocent illusion of the old lady’s economy, for she never 
had any dirt about her house or goods to show. The humble 
bedstead, with its nice bed and bedding of immaculate clean- 
liness, covered with the neat blue plaid yarn counterpane, and 
surmounted by pillows, large, full, light, and white as snow 


264 THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 

drifts, still stood upon the left. At the upper end of the 
large room the spinning-wheel and the loom occupied opposite 
corners. The chest of drawers, with its mirror, its scriptural 
picture, its wine-glasses and tumblers, and its show-Bible and 
prayer-book, stood upon one side of the room, and the white 
deal table on the other. A few coarse flag-bottomed chairs 
completed the humble furniture. Miss Joe was — spite of the 
rheumatism — moving about almost as busily as ever, clad in her 
striped , yarn petticoat, coarse cotton short-gown, white cotton 
cap, and sheep-skin mittens, and coarse, but clean shoes and 
stockings. She hurried to meet the boy and girl, to take the 
basket from them, and order them to the fire, throwing to 
each a bunch of cotton to pick, so as not to be losing time 
while they warmed themselves. Then she took the basket of 
shell-fish, and emptied them into a tub of water, preparatory 
to cooking them for supper. And next, as this was New 
Year’s Eve, she began to mix the materials for a crackling 
pone ; a great luxury to the hungry children, and one they 
had often declared to be just as good as pound-cake. Well, 
their frugal supper was soon ready, and by the time the boy and 
girl had finished their task of cotton-pieking, it smoked upon 
the table. A cup of weak bohea tea, scared” with a little 
coarse brown sugar, and liberally diluted with milk, a tureen 
of savoury-stewed maninosies, and a pone of rich, crackling 
bread — that was all, — a very good supper for a poor family 
on a cold winter’s night; one with which the healthy, hearty, 
hungry lad and lass were abundantly satisfied, and with which 
Miss Joe might have been well contented; only that the 
people of the Western Shore — that rich and fertile land, 
abounding in every description of game, fish and water-fowl — 
whatever their circumstances may be in other respects, as far 
as their tables are concerned, are accustomed to good and even 
very luxurious living. 

And so Miss Josephine Cotter, when she sat down to a 
frugal meal, thought herself so ill used by Providence, that 
she burst into tears. 

In an instant Nettie had bounded and sprung upon her 
neck, covering her with hearty caresses, deafening her with 
assurances of affection, as if affection was the consolation for 


THE FOOTSTEP. 265 

all the evils upon earth. Hugh stood up and looked grave 
and troubled. 

“Sit down, Nettie, child, and eat your supper if you can 
eat it. Hugh, take your seat and make out a meal if you can 
do so. I suppose you can. Children almost always have good 
appetites, and never have sense enough to take trouble. S^uch 
weak tea ! I have been a housekeeper — this — fifty-odd year^' 
said Miss Joe, snubbing and sobbing as she poured out the 
tea and handed it round — ^^year, and never, 7iever did I sit 
down to supper on New Year’s Eve without — without — with- 
out cake and sweetmeats.’’ This last word was blurted out 
with a loud sob, wail, almost yell. “And never, never ^ so long 
as I have kept house, this fifty year and more, have I kept 
Christmas and New Year without a — turkey, and, and, and 
MINCE-PIE. Oh !-h !-h ! I’m a goin’ to the dogs as fast as ever 
1 can go, that’s a sure thing. Ef that derned old General 
Garnet — General Iron, as the niggers call him — had o’ done 
his duty, I shouldn’t o’ been to this here pass.” 

“ He’s my God-father. Ain’t he ?” asked Nettie, blowing 
her tea and sipping it. “ Say, granny, he’s my God-father, 
ain’t he ?” 

“ No ! he’s your Devil-father, that’s what he is.” 

“But ain’t I his God-child?” 

“ No ! You’re his Devil-child. That’s what I believe, and 
always did.” 

“ I do wish you had turkey and mince-pie, granny. Indeed 
if I knew where to get them for you I would get them,” said 
Nettie, surmising that the want of the turkey and mince-pie 
was at the bottom of all Miss Joe’s ill humour. 

“ If General Garnet had behaved like a Christian man, I 
should have had both. It has been a many a long day since 
1 applied to him, Nettie, on your account. I gin it up long 
ago, I’d scorn to ask him to give me anything. I’d scorn 
to ask him to lend me money. But just about a week ago, 
just afore Christmas, seeing as how I couldn’t raise a turkey 
for Christmas no way, I just writes him a note,, and making 
an excuse by telling him how you was a getting along, and 
how you were well and hearty, and going to school to the 
Riverint Parson Wilson. I just axes him to lend me the loan 
of a good fat turkey hen, and I’d pay him after New Year. 


2G6 * THE DISCARDED, DAUGHTER. 

And, bless patience, if be tuk one bit o' notice of my note at 
all !" 

But, Aunt Joe, you know that was the day his daugh er 
was married and left home, and you may depend he had a 
great deal to think of," suggested Hugh. 

‘‘ Well, then, and why didn't he 'tend to it arterwards ? 
Tell me that, since you will make excuses for him ?" 

Why, Aunt Joe, you know his wife died suddenly, and 
surely that was enough to put every other thing out of his 
head." 

Well ! the poor, dear, sweet creature, Hod bless her ! she's 
a great deal better off than we poor sinners ; still I was very 
sorry for her, and should o' been sorrier still ef I hadn't had 
so many troubles of my own to think of. But Hugh, she's 
been dead and buried these four or five days, and he's had 
plenty o' chance to tend to mj little note. But, no ! he won't 
do it. He never would ; he never did. If ever he'd answer 
any letter I'd write him about Nettie, it was always to make 
some excuse ; he made the same excuse so many times that I 
got it by heart. It was always — ‘ circumstances beyond my 
control' — pish ! tush ! tut ! pshaw ! He didn't want to do 
anything, and he didn't mean to do anything," exclaimed Miss 
J oe, rising from the table in great wrath, and going vigorously 
to work clearing away. 

Hugh and Nettie started up and began to assist her, and 
in an incredibly short space of time the table was cleared away, 
the hearth swept up, and the fire replenished. 

Then Miss Joe gave Nettie a large bunch of seedy cotton to 
pick, handed Hugh a pair of cards to card rolls, and, lastly, 
drew her small wheel up to the chimney-corner, and sat and 
spun. They were all working in unity, and this was the order 
of their labour. Nettie had the lightest part of it. She picked 
the seed from the cotton, and handed the clear cotton to Hugh. 
Hugh took it, rubbed it on the teeth of his cards, and carded 
it into long rolls, which he passed to Miss Joe, who attached 
it to her spindle, and spun it into yarn. 

There was something very enlivening about this social fire- 
side labour. Each one felt its cheering effects. They were so 
really comfortable, too. All was so profoundly still without. 
All was so quiet, snug, and warm within The fire blazed so 


THE FOOTSTEP. 


267 

brightly, lighting up the whole room. Little Nettie forgot 
her dissatisfaction with the social relations of the rich and poor. 
Miss Joe forgot that she was going to the dogs as fast as she 
could go.” Hugh — but he was always cheerful. What if 
they were three isolated human beings, on the lonely bay isle 
— cut off by miles of sea from every other human being ? 
What if when they paused in work or talk, the awful stillness 
of the solitary place was not broken by any — the slightest— 
the most distant — sound of human life ? by anything save the 
monotonous boom of the sea upon the beach ? They did not 
pause to listen to the dread silence. Miss Joe merrily turned 
her wheel ; Hugh vigorously pushed his cards ; and little Net- 
tie, perhaps because her cotton picking was too soft and gentle 
work, to help give vent to the life of energy in her, began to 
hum — then to trill — and finally broke out into singing a lively 
glee. Hugh caught up the refrain, and they sang and shout- 
ed, and shouted and sang, back and forth, forth and back, 
until the old smoke-dried rafters of the lodge kitchen rang 
again ; until Miss Joe, pausing in the swift turning of her 
wheel, exclaimed. 

Can’t you hush ? I thought I heard a man’s step crunch- 
ing through the snow.” 

A man’s step !” echoed Hugh, with a look of surprise. 

A man’s step !” re-eohoed Nettie, her eyes wide open with 
astonishment. 

‘‘ Yes ! A man’s heavy step crunching through the snow. 
There, listen ! there it is again. It seems to be coming up 
the hill towards the house — listen !” 

They all listened. 

Crunch, crunch, cruuvh came the heavy, regular, monoto- 
nous tramp. 

And it is impossible to convey the effect of that regular, 
heavy sound breaking upon the profound stillness and solitude 
of night on that sea-girt isle. 

In the name of Heaven who can it be ?” exclaimed Miss 
Joe, as nearly frightened as ever she was in her life. 

Crunch, crunch, crunch came the step, nearing the door. 

I am going to see,” exclaimed Hugh, seizing up a pine 
knot, lighting it at the fire, and making for the door. 

Miss Joe could scarcely repress a scream. 


268 


THE DltilOARDED DAUGHTER. 


Nettie stood like a young panther at bay. Clinging to Miss 
Joe in terror, yet looking towards the door with her eyes 
ablaze with defianee. 

Just as a loud rap startled them afresh, Hugh swung th'e 
door open, and a tall, majestic-looking man, wrapped in B 
large cloak, strode into the room. 


THE iriGHT VISIT. 


269 


OHAPTER XXXV. 

THE NIGHT VISIT. 

And scenes long past of joy and pain, \ 

Come weldering through her childish brain. — Scott. 

That’s goodfather ! As sure as a gun that’s godfather 1* 
iOLclaimed Nettie, making one bound from the place where she 
3tood to a chair, and springing thence to the bosom of the new 
comer, where she clung desperately, pressing her arms around 
his neck; holding his head between her hands, while she 
kissed his eyes, and cheeks, and lips ; then rubbing and root- 
ing her head into his bosom, and screaming with delight. 

And is it possible you recollect me, little Nettie?” asked 
Greneral G-arnet (for it was he), in a tone of voice almost sad. 

Recollect you, godfather, sure I do ! Though you have 
been away so long ; I haven’t seen you since I was a wood- 
sprite, and that was a long time ago, and now I am a water- 
nymph,” exclaimed Nettie, rubbing her head into him, and 
clinging around him, laughing with joy. 

Wild as evei, Nettie !” 

Wild ! yes ! Tou know when I was a wood-sprite I could 
climb trees like a squirrel ; well, now I am a sea-nymph — I 
can swim like a duck and dive like a fish — ask granny if I 
can’t!” cried Net!ie, reiterating all her exclamations of 
affection and delight, and repeating all her impetuous ca- 
resses. 

It seems to me that you love me a little, Nettie ?” said he, 
in the same sad tone. 

17 


270 THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 

Love you a little, godfather ! Oh ! just open your cloak and 
take me inside next to you. Oh ! just unbutton your coat, 
and button me up inside of that, too. I love you well enough 
to let you swallow me, godfather,’^ exclaimed the imp, nest- 
ling close to him with her arms about his neck, her head tucked 
into his bosom, and wriggling with delight. 

^^Yes, you do love me — disinterestedly — poor, forsaken 
child ! And you are the only thing on earth that does love 
me,^^ said he, folding both arms about her. 

All this took place in a very few minutes, while Miss J oe 
was rising in her corner, setting aside her wheel, smoothing 
down her apron, and coming forward to meet her visiter, say- 
ing, 

‘‘Nettie, jump down this moment, and donH trouble the 
‘ gentleman.’ ” But Nettie clung tighter, and Greneral G-ar- 
net held her closer. “ General Garnet, sir, it is an unexpect- 
ed honour to see you here. Pray, come to the fire and sit 
down. Hugh, shut that door, and set a chair for the Greneral, 
and throw more brush on the fire. General, do sit down, and 
don’t let that wild child bother you so. Come down, Nettie, 
I say.” 

“ I sha’n’t, granny I” 

“Never mind. Miss Joe, I like to have her here,” said 
General Grarnet, throwing off his cloak, seating himself in a 
large arm-chair at the fire, and seating Nettie on his knee. 
“ Well, my old friend, how does fate use you now-a-days ?” he 
finally asked of the old lady. 

“ Oh, sir, very well, indeed; fust-rate, I thank you,” an- 
swered proud Miss Joe. 

“ I am very glad to hear it,” commented her visiter, with 
one arm still clasping Nettie, while he glanced sarcastically 
around the room. 

Miss Joe did not perceive the irony, but she saw his suit 
of deep mourning, and suddenly recollected that she might be 
expected to say something appropriate to the occasion. So, 
composing her countenance to funeral solemnity, she looked at 
General G-arnet and said, very seriously, the following com- 
mon-place — 

“We have heard of your heavy bereavement in the sudden 
death of your wife. General Garnet, and we are very much 
gnc'rad. But you know, sir, death is the common lot of all 


THE NIGHT VISIT. 


271 


It is the only condition we can — can have life on ! It’s just as 
natral as being born. And so, sir, I hope you’ll be able \o 
bear up under your fate like a philosopher. Besides which, it 
is the will of God. And being just so, I trust you will have 
grace to resign yourself to your trials like a Christian.” 

I trust so, I trust so,” replied General Garnet, speak- 
ing quickly ; then he added, It augments my sorrow very 
much, however, to remember that it was the misconduct of the 
daughter that precipitated the fate of the mother.” 

Good Heaven ! you don’t say so, sir !” 

^^Yes; you may as well know the truth, my good old 
friend. Elsie threw herself entirely away ; eloped and went 
off to the West with that worthless beggar, Hardcastle,” said 
he, looking around to see the effect of his words. 

Hugh’s head sprang up with an expression of indignant 
astonishment, denial and defiance on his fine countenance. 

Nettie gazed at him — appalled. 

Miss Joe stared, with mouth and eyes all open with won- 
der, exclaiming. 

Good gracious, sir, you don’t tell me so. I heard some- 
thing — but I didn’t — I never — ^well, dear me — Lord a-mercy. 
Was it really that away, arter all?” 

Yes; and now my good friend, my excellent friend, let 
us change the subject; it is too painful; much too painful: 
even you can judge what a father’s and a husband’s feelings 
must be upon such an occasion. Let us leave the agonizing 
topic, and never revert to it again. Let us turn to a more 
agreeable subject. My dear little goddaughter here,” said he, 
bending over the child on his knee with his soft, bright smile, 
— a smile as charming as full, beautifully curved lips, pearly 
teeth, and a dark moustache, and the spirit of Belial could 
make it ; my dear little godchild here — she is a very fine 
little girl, and will one day, no doubt, make a very accom- 
plished woman. You have taken good care of her; it is easy 
to see that. What rosy cheeks she has !” 

“ I have taken as good care of her as I could, sir, — which 
being an old woman — too old to follow after children — wasn’t 
much.” 

I am under great obligations to you. Miss Joe, and must 
find some way in which to repay you for the years of trouble 


272 THE DIfiCARDED DAUGHTER. 

and expense you have been put to upon account of my little 
ward/’ 

^^Not at all, sir; you owe me nothing/^ said the proud old 
lady. I have always been a filing, striving, saving soul ; 
but I never saved anything, as I thought any one near me, 
^specially a little child, was a sufferin’ for. No, (Jeneral G-ar- 
net, ef I am to be paid at this hour of the day, I had rather 
the Lord pay me. I don’t want i/ou to take it out’n His 
hands.” 

General Garnet, turning to little Nettie, again took her 
hand, looked at the beautifully moulded but sun-browned 
thing, and said, softly and smilingly, 

^‘You have a very pretty-shaped hand, my dear little girl 
You ought to take care of it. You ought to wear gloves.” 

Hain’t got any, godfather.” 

But you should get them or have them got for you — why 
don’t you ?” 

Couldn’t dig for maninosies or break brush with gloves 
on, godfather.” 

“ Why, you don’t do these shocking things ?” 

Yes, indeedy ! and I’m going coon-hunting with Hugh 
next moonshiny night that comes.” 

‘‘ Next moonlight night that comes you will be in a very 
different-looking place from this,” said he, pushing the lurid 
black ringlets back gently behind her ears, and noticing for 
the first time that sure index of ‘‘ gentle blood” in human kind 
or horses — the small and elegantly formed ear. 

Where shall I be, godfather ?” 

Never mind where ! They have not bored your ears, Net- 
tie !” 

^^No; I haven’t had my ears bored, but I saw a picture of 
an Indian with his nose bored.” 

Pooh ! — ^yet after all, one is about as barbarous as the 
other, little Nettie. Nettie, my little girl, would you like to 
go home and live with me ?” 

Go home and live ’long o’ you ! Um — ^m — m — me — no i 
I had rather you’d come and live ’long o’ me.” 
uWhy?” 

“ ’Cause I don’t want to leave gi’anny ; she wouldn’t have 
anybody to hug her up and keep her back warm at night.” 

“ But if we were to take granny with us, too ?” 


THE NIGHT VISIT. 


273 

— m — m — me. Could you take Hugh along, too?^* 
asked the child, with the astute air of one making a shrewd 
bargain. 

‘‘No,” very decidedly answered General Garnet; adding, in 
a lower tone, “ no more childish friendships ripening into ma- 
ture love.^^ 

Very well, then, godfather, if you love me, you’ll have 
to come and live ’long of us ; for I can’t go home ’long o* 
you” 

“ Why not, pray ?” 

’Cause, godfather, how could Hugh live here by himself?’' 

^^Well, little ^Martha,’ anxious and troubled about many 
things, Hugh need not live here by himself. Suppose I was 
to get a situation for Hugh ?” 

“ A what ?” 

“ Suppose I were to put Hugh in the way of getting an 
honest living?” 

“ La, godfather, no white men about here except niggers 
ever get an honest living, and I can’t let you black Hugh’s 
face and crisp his hair — thais black enough already — and 
make a nigger of him !” 

“ You silly child, you will let me make a lawyer, or a doc- 
tor, or a parson of him, won’t you ?” 

Before Nettie could answer, Hugh Hutton came up, cap in 
hand, and stood facing General Garnet. 

“ Well, my boy?” said the latter. 

“ General Garnet, if you have any notion of taking Nettie 
away from here, just look out for her and the old lady, who 
has had the care of her so long, and never mind me. I can 
take care of myself. Nettie, darlin’, never stop for me; 1 
know what to do with myself. And now. General, as long as 
I am talking to you, I must tell you I don’t believe one w'ord 
about Doctor Hardcastle’s being a worthless man, because 1 
know he is a good and great man ; nor do I believe one word 
of Miss Elsie’s breaking her mother’s heart, because — because 
I know she is as good as she is beautiful. You needn’t be 
angry. I should have hated myself if I hadn’t spoke out !” 
exclaimed the boy, his frank, brave spirit flashing boldly from 
his eyes. 

But the words' had scarcely left the lips of Hugn before 


274 THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 

Nettie had jumped to her feet, and administered a sound box 
of the ear to him, exclaiming. 

Now! take that ! Now, you make godfather out to be a 
story-teller again and having given her sharp little lesson, 
Nettie sprung back to her seat, and threw her arms again 
around his neck. General Garnet, without seeming to have 
seen her action, regarded the boy with a sort of gentle, dig- 
nified surprise, and leisurely scorn, merely saying. 

Why, you impertinent young dog 
Nettie sprung down a second time. General Garnet gently 
attempted to restrain her, but she dashed his hands away, ex- 
claiming. 

Let me alone, godfather. You are wicked and ugly, and 
I hate you^ He’s not an impudent young dog at all ! he is 
my dear, gentle brother Hugh,” she said, throwing herself 
about the neck of the boy, who folded his arms around her. 

You must please to excuse Nettie, sir; indeed she is 
the wildest, queerest child that ever was born — but then, 
you know, she was wild and queer before ever I took her in 
hand,” said Miss Joe, who was all this time busy with a sauce- 
pan over the fire ; and a pitcher, a bowl, and some eggs, sugar, 
and spices on a chair by her side. 

Nettie seems to have very little self-control or any other 
sort of control,” dryly observed the General. 

Now if you ain’t mad long o’ granny. Just as if it was 
her fault. And she making you mulled cider, too, to keep 
the cold out of your stomach. And taking the top-knot hen’s 
eggs, too, that she was saving to set, because they’re a first- 
rate breed of hens, that lay eggs all the winter, and she wants 
more of them. And she had but six eggs, and now she’s 
taken three to make you mulled cider to keep the cold from 
striking to your stomach ; and you to get mad long o’ her, 
and cut her up short for nothing. Never mind him, granny. 
I’ll speak right up for you, and take your part,” said Nettie, 
with her arms still clasped around Hugh’s neck, looking at 
her guardian, who was regarding her with a smile of mingled 
amusement and condescending toleration. 

“Don’t you mind her, sir. Eggs ain’t no scarcity in this 
house ; no, nor anything else you could want. W juld you 
like the leg of a cold turkey, broiled, with a little currant 


THE NIGHT VISIT. 


275 

jf'lly, sir? Or a few queen-cakes, with a glass of good old 
sherry 

Why, granny, I thought you hadn’t—'' began Nettie, 
but Hugh put his hand over her lip, and whispered. 

Don't talk too much, Nettie. Go make friends with your 
guardian." 

Nettie turned — saw once more the tolerant, indulgent smile 
that was beaming on her — and, with her usual way of assimi- 
lating only the good and the beauty of a mixed thing, sprang 
at once to his arms, to his neck, and caressing him vehemently, 
asked — 

‘‘You are not mad with me, are you, godfather? I love 
you dearly! dearly! 'deed I do, godfather!" and turning 
around his bushy face between her little hands, she kissed 
him many times, repeating her question — “ You are not mad 
'long 'o me, are you, godfather ?" 

“No, darling little Nettle^ I am not." 

I have often thought that the spell of power that child held 
over that man's hard, stern, reserved nature was this : — the 
blending of passionate fondness, with perfect freedom, frank- 
ness and fearlessness in her feelings and her manners towards 
him. 

General Garnet then turned, and addressing himself se- 
riously to the old lady, informed her that he thought the time 
had come for him to discharge the great obligation under 
which he lay to his worthy deceased friend, the late gallant 
Corporal Seabright, and redeem the promise made to his 
widow, when dying — by taking care of the rearing, education, 
and future fortunes of their orphan girl. That it was now 
expedient that his dear little goddaughter and ward should 
be brought into proper restraint and training. That in order 
this should be fittingly accomplished, it was necessary that his 
sweet little ward should become an inmate of his house, and 
live under his immediate protection and supervision. That 
being most unhappily a widower, and having no lady at the 
head of his establishment to look after his household, and do 
the honours, he should be under the necessity of engaging 
the services of some highly respectable matron as house- 
keeper. That he thought no more competent person for the 
duties of the position could be found in the world than Miss 
Josephine Cotter — and, under all the circumstances, no ono 


276 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


could be found to fill the situation with such perfect pro- 
priety. That if she chose to exchange her lodge on the isle 
for the housekeeper’s rooms at Mount Calm, she might 
name her own salary, and he would come up to it, or ex- 
ceed it. 

Miss Joe’s eyes twinkled under her iron-bound spectacles, 
but she hesitated to answer. 

Greneral Garnet gave her full time to digest his proposition, 
while he toyed with the child upon his knee — telling her of 
her new home, and new prospects as far as he thought she 
could comprehend them — promising her new dresses, books, 
playthings, a pony, &c. Finally, he raised his head and turned 
to Miss Joe, saying, 

Well, madam, have you reflected upon my proposition ? 
and what do you think of it 

Miss Joe hemmed, .cleared her throat, blew her nose, wiped 
the tears from her eyes, rubbed her specs and replaced them, 
and then said, 

“ She didn’t know. She was used to staying where she 
was. She had lived there twenty odd years, and did nCJt feel 
like leaving it at her time of life. Besides, she must see 
what could be done for Hugh. She must take time to con- 
sider. She couldn’t give an answer no way till next day.” 

General Garnet acceded to the short delay, and smiling to 
himself, arose to take leave; tasted and praised Miss Joe’s 
mulled cider; kissed and fondly embraced little Nettie; nod- 
ded to Hugh Hutton; shook hands with Miss Joe, and with- 
drew. 


NETTIE IN THE MANSION 277 


CHAPTER XXXVL 

NETTIE IN THE MANSION. 

She shall dwell in lordly houses, with gardens all about, 

And servants to attend her when she goes in and out ; 

She’ll have music for the hearing, and pictures for the eye, 
And exquisite and costly things each sense to gratify. 

Howitt. 

Yery early on the morning of the second of January, while 
yet the level rays of the newly-risen sun were projecting 
golden lines of light aslant the snow-covered earth, the travel- 
ling carriage of General Garnet passed through Huttontown 
on its way to the beach, to take in Miss Joe and little Nettie, 
who were that day to leave their island home. 

At the same hour, Miss J oe was bustling over her last pre- 
parations at the Isle. The simple furniture was to be safely 
stowed away, and left in the house ; the most valuable portion 
of their personal effects was to be transported to Mount Calm 
at more leisure ; her own and Nettie’s clothing was packed 
into a chest ready to be taken away. 

Hugh’s bundle was made up and slung at the end of a stick 
across his shoulder. The boy certainly looked the most hope- 
ful and happy of the three. 

^‘Dear Hugh, you do just ’mind me of Jack in the fairy 
tale, going to seek his fortune,” said Nettie, gazing at him 
with admiration.” 

Nettie herself was wild with joy and expectation. Scarcely 
had she slept or ate sinc^ the noted visit of her godfather 


278 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


How could she ? — all the fairy tales she had ever read in hef 
life, were about to be realized in her own person : she was 
Cinderella, going in splendid style to the royal palace, to be 
married to the king’s son ; she was Beauty, who had just dis- 
covered the Beast to be a handsome, powerful prince, who was 
going to make a princess of her; or, if not literally so, her 
dreams were equally fanciful and extravagant. But how dif- 
ferent was the reality, poor Nettie I more fairy -favoured as 
wood-sprite in the forest wild, or water-nymph in her sea-girt 
Isle, than ever as heiress of the millionaire in the cold magni- 
ficence of Mount Calm. 

The last thing Miss Joe did was to put out the fire, and 
dress Nettie in a little cloak of scarlet country-cloth, made 
with a hood to go over her head. 

At which Nettie, with many extravagant capers, declared 
herself to be Little Bed Riding Hood in persoj^. 

When all was done, and the house locked up, the three took 
their way down the solitary foot-path through the snow to the 
water’s edge. 

Hugh had already cleaned out the boat, and they all got 
into it. Hugh took the oar. The water was very smooth, the 
current in their favour, and in twenty minutes the boy landed 
his charge safely upon the beach. 

The carriage of G-eneral G-arnet was in waiting. 

Miss Joe and Nettie were handed in by Hugh, and then the 
boy put in his hand to bid them good-bye. 

Miss Joe burst into tears, sobbed aloud, told Hugh if ho 
should not find his place as shop-boy at Mr. Fig’s grocery 
pleasant, to let her know, and she would go right back to 
Hutton’s Isle, and they two would work together, and see bet- 
ter times when the warm weather should come. 

Nettie, for her part, much as she loved Hugh, could not 
cry. She had read too many fairy tales not to know how her 
own ought to end ; and so Nettie felt perfectly assured that 
by some denouement at Mount Calm, every wish of her heart 
must be accomplished, most especially the dearest wish of all, 
that of having her playmate always with her. So they took 
leave Hugh struck into a by-path, and walked off briskly 
towards the store of Mr. Fig. And the carriage rolled on up 
through the main street of the village, and out over the coun- 


NETTIE IN THE MANSION. 279 

try road that led over the snow-covered hills and through the 
hollow to Mount Calm. 

Arrived at Mount Calm, they were met by General Garnet, 
who, receiving little Nettie in his arms, pressed her fondly 
and carried her into the house, followed by Miss Joe. Here, 
in the hall, he delivered the little girl to the charge of a 
neatly-dressed, “lady-like’’ mulatto girl, with a gay Madras 
turban on her head, and a pair of heavy gold hoops in her 
ears, telling her to take Miss Seabright to the chamber lately 
occupied by Miss Garnet, and to prepare her for the breakfast- 
table. 

“ And what’s your name ?” asked Nettie, looking up with 
curiosity at the gay mulatto. 

“ Nettie, my darling, she is Hero, your maid,” said General 
Garnet. 

Hero took the hand of the child, and was about to lead her 
up the great staircase, when Nettie suddenly broke from her, 
and exclaiming, interrogatively, “ This way ?” sprang up the 
stairs like a squirrel. 

Hero tripped after her, overtook her on the landing, and 
gently took her hand, saying, 

“ Miss Seabright, young ladies oughtn’t to romp through a 
quiet house, and race up stairs in that manner.” 

“ I know young ladies oughtn’t to, but I am a little gal.” 

“ You are a little lady, and should act like one. But here 
is your chamber. Miss Seabright,” said Hero, opening the door 
of Elsie’s beautiful room. 

“ Oh, how — how grand !” exclaimed Nettie, breaking from 
her maid, springing into the midst of the apartment, and 
standing gazing, speechless with admiration, upon the splen- 
dours — for such they were to her — of the furniture. 

The French* paper on the walls, with its pretty pattern of 
wild-rose vines climbing up gilded pillars and forming into 
arches; the carpet on the floor, chosen to match, with wild- 
rose vines runing over a white ground; the pink, damask, and 
white muslin curtains of the windows, that suffused the whole 
chamber with a soft, roseate light; the rose-wood dressing 
bureau standing between these two windows, with its tall mir- 
ror and marble top, ’and elegant ornaments of porcelain, pearl, 
and gold; the rose-wood bedstead, standing in the opposite 
. -icess, with its white-embossed counterpane, and rich valance, 


280 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


all s^ftly shaded by hanging curtains of pink damask, like 
those of the windows; the wardrobe, with its mirror doors, 
occupying the side to the left of the chimney ; the marble-top 
table, with its elegant trifles — a work-box of mother-of-pearl 
and gold, a standish of ebony, inlaid with ivory ; a portfolio, 
books, &c. ; the work-stand of satin-wood ; the luxurious sofa, 
chair, and ottoman, covered with rose-coloured cut velvet to suit 
the draperies ; the polished steel grate, with its silver mount- 
ing, and marble mantel-piece, with its ormolu clock, vases, 
statuettes, medallions, &c. ; lastly, the paintings, few, but ad- 
mirable, though attractive to Nettie chiefly upon account of 
the massive and richly-gilded frames. 

Introducing Nettie into that elegant, luxurious chamber, 
was like letting a monkey loose in a fancy-shop. For a mo- 
ment she stood shading her eyes with her hand, as she would 
have done in looking upon a dazzling winter landscape, gazing 
transfixed with surprise; and then she ran hither and thither, 
seized this and that, upset an inkstandish, seized a porcelain 
bottle by its stopper, letting the other part fall and break ; 
knocked down an elegant dressing-case, splitting off its pearl 
corners, and spilling all its contents; jumping up into one of the 
beautiful chairs and standing on it, snatched a statuette of Tha- 
lia from the mantel-piece, and calling it a doll-baby, declared 
she would make it a red petticoat, and give it the name of Doily. 

All this was the work of a minute, for then Hero went and 
took her hand again, and said. 

Come, Miss Seabright, all these pretty things are yours, 
but you must learn to handle them carefully, so as not to 
break and destroy them. Come, now, I have got to get you 
ready for breakfast. You are to eat breakfast with the General. 
Come, let me wash your face and comb your hair.^^ 

No indeed ain’t you agoin’ to wash my face and comb my 
hair. Fve washed my own face and combed my own hair 
ever since I can remember, and I ain’t agoin’ to let anybody 
else do it now.” 

“ Well, then, you do it; and here is such a pretty blue dress 
of Prince’s cloth, all trimmed with black braid ; and here is a 
black silk apron and a nice lace tucker, and silk mits, and a 
tortoise-shell long comb to keep your curls back, and here is 
a pair of black morocco boots, see.” 

Oh, how beautiful !” exclaimed the child, admiringly, as 
*»he hastened with her ablutions. 


NETTIE IN THE MANSION. 28J 

When Nettie was arrayed in her new dress, she scarcely 
permitted her maid to tie the last thing, or turn the last long 
ringlet behind the comb, before she sprang from under her 
hands and fled down stairs to show godfather and granny 
how she looked dressed like a little lady.^^ 

As Nettie sprang into the presence of her guardian, he 
arose and walked towards her, took her hand gently, and told 
her that little girls must walk, and not jump and skip through 
the rooms of a house. Then he led her into the breakfast 
room, where Miss Joe was already installed at the head of the 
table, attended by a “ genteeF^ waiter. General Garnet 
seated his ward and took his own place. Hero now made her 
appearance and stood by her little mistress. But Nettie’s 
eyes were wandering from the elegancies of the breakfast-table, 
with its damask table-cloth, fine napkins, Sevres China ser- 
vice, &c., to the superb sideboard, with its splendid array of 
cut-glass and silver plate ; and- from the rich Turkey carpet 
to the wonderful paper hangings of the walls that showed the 
city of Paris by morning light. And Nettie’s maid had 
several times to remind her that little ladies did not stare 
about, but ate their breakfast prettily, before she could with- 
draw her attention from the new glories around her, and fix 
it upon her breakfast. 

But before the meal was half over, Nettie had sprung up 
and bounded out of the room in search of more novelties. 
The hall, the library, and the picture-gallery, the parlour and 
the drawing-room, the saloon and the conservatory — all on the 
first floor — were in turn invaded and overhauled by the eager, 
impetuous child. Then all the chambers on the second floor 
were visited and ransacked. And then the indefatigable little 
explorer made for the attic, and besieged the doors of the 
locked-up rooms there. Through 'all these runnings and 
ramblings. Hero followed her, telling her that little ladies 
should not do this, or that, or the other. 

When night came, a little tired with her incessant running, 
and a little fretted and dispirited with the ceaseless accompani- 
ment of her maid’s tuitions and fault-finding, Nettie went into 
the library, where her guardian sat luxuriating in nis easy- 
chair at a table covered with books and papers, before a fine fire. 

Nettie was too tired to notice the elegant and luxurious 
appointments of General Garnet’s favourite retreat : the superb 


282 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


book-cases at intervals along tlie walls ; the rare and costly 
statues, busts, and oil-paintings ; the tables laden with prints 
and articles of virtu ; the easy-chairs, sofas, and foot-cushions ; 
the deep, soft carpet, stealing all noises from the feet/^ the 
heavy damask curtains excluding all cold air, and the splendid 
chandeliers pendent from the ceiling, and diffusing through 
their stained glass shades a rich, warm, and glowing light 
throughout the apartment. Nettie sauntered straight up to 
Greneral Garnet, climbed upon his knees, and threw her head 
and arms languidly upon his bosom. 

“ Tired, my little Nettie 

‘‘Oh, very tired, godfather, indeed. Take me in your 
arms and rock me back and forwards, as Hugh does.’' 

“ You must forget Hugh and the Isle, and the lodge, and 
all your infantile life, little Nettie. You are going to be a 
young lady, and some day you may feel mortified if any one 
remind you of these things." 

“ But I think it would be wicked to forget them, godfather, 
and indeed I won’t forget them either,’’ said Nettie, lifting 
herself from her resting-place. 

General Garnet saw his error. If he wished Nettie to for- 
get her past life, companions, and occupations, he must never 
remind her of them. If she spoke of them, he must not keep 
her mind fixed upon the subject even by opposing it. He 
must draw her attention to something else. Beaching out his 
hand, drawing a book of coloured prints up before him, and 
opening it, he said, 

“You have a great deal of curiosity, little Nettle. Here 
are views taken on the Mediterranean ; pictures of strange 
places and old cities, which I will tell you about. But as I 
do not wish to talk to a listless hearer, you must first tell me 
when you see a picture that interests you, and question me 
about anything that excites your curiosity, and then I shall 
know that I am speaking to an attentive pupil.’’ 

Nettie kissed her guardian rapturously, and still sitting on 
his knees, bent forward and eagerly turned over the leaves of 
the folio, until a view on the coast of Greece arrested her at- 
tention, and pausing upon it, she caressed her guardian, and 
claimed the explanation. General Garnet was absorbed in the 
description and history of this plate, and Nettie was listening 
eagerly, when the front-door bell was heard to ring. General 


NETTIE IN THE MANSION. 


283 


Uarnet ceased talking, and raised his head and listened. 
Nettie pressed her lips to his and listened too. The library 
door opened ; a servant entered, and announced, 

Doctor Hardcastle 

“ Show Doctor Hardcastle in,^^ said General Garnet, gather- 
ing Nettie closely to his bosom with one arm, resting the other 
hand upon the table, and elevating his head and Roman nose 
to the loftiest angle of scorn. A minute passed, and then 
the door opened again, and Magnus Hardcastle, still clothed 
in his rough emigrant suit, entered the library, walked down 
its length, and stood face to face with General Garnet. 


284 


THE DISCARDED DAHCHTSa 


CHAPTEK XXXVII. 

THE INTERVIEW. 

Here I disclaim all my paternal care, 

Propinquity and property of blood, 

And as a stranger to my hearth and me 
Hold her from this for ever ! — Shakspearb. 

Thus they stood : — 

G-eneral Grarnet had arisen, and put Nettie from his bosom, 
but she stood upon the chair he had just vacated, with her 
arras around his neck, gazing at the new comer. 

Doctor Hardcastle stood, cap in hand, immediately before 
him. 

They looked at each other. The countenance of Greneral 
Garnet was calm and impassible; he could afford to be calm; 
he had his revenge in his hands — in his arms ! The counte- 
nance of Magnus was frank, open, eager as ever, yet tempered 
with a certain gravity and earnestness of expression. 

But a single instant they thus regarded each other, and 
then : — 

Well, sir?^^ said General Garnet. 

Magnus held forth his hand, saying, seriously. 

General Garnet, I have come a day^s journey back from 
my Western road, to offer you my hand in amity, to say to 
you how kindly I feel, and must ever feel, towards the father 
of my. beloved wife — to say how much I desire your friend- 
ship — how much we all desire a reconciliation. Will you take 
my hand General Garnet drew himself up and remained 


THE INTERVIEW. 


285 


silent. Nettie, with her arms still around his neck, gazed 
with interest at their visiter. Magnus dropped his hand, but 
continued, Sir, I can understand the resentment of disap- 
pointed ambition. But I do not, and will not, believe such 
anger to be implacable; not now — not under the afflicting 
dispensation of your recent deplorable bereavement. General 
Garnet, I had proceeded a day and night upon my Westward 
journey, before I received a letter from Mr. Wilson, an- 
nouncing the sudden death of Mrs. Garnet. My dear wife 
was overwhelmed with sorrow, a sorrow which I also deeply 
felt. She reproached herself bitterly with a thousand fancied 
sins against her lost mother, vowing in her remorse and despair 
what she would give, or do, could the grave but give up its 
dead. ^ The grave is inexorable V General Garnet, to some 
extent I have judged your heart by hers. The husband and 
the daughter have a common sorrow. The husband must 
have suffered as much as the daughter. General Garnet, can. 
I venture to speak candidly to you ? Can I venture to say 
that little as your Alice may have been loved or valued while 
she was still by your side, in your daily path, yet now that 
she has vanished from your sight, you miss her in a thousand 
endearing attentions — in a thousand gentle ministrations every 
moment of your life. You miss her in countless comforts, 
and nameless refinements of comfort, of which she, till lost^ 
was the quiet, unsuspecting origin. And now you find out 
the cause by missing the effect \” 

‘ How blessings brighten as they take their flight V said 
General Garnet, in a low, ironical tone, filling up the pause 
made by Magnus. But without observing the sneer. Doctor 
Hardcastle replied, gravely and sweetly. 

Yes I ^ We knew not that an Angel had been with us till 
we saw the glory of her vanishing wing!’ In your deep 
heart was it not thus with you. General Garnet ? Is it not so 
in a modified way with many of us ? Oh, the loved and lost I 
we may have misapprehended, undervalued, misused them in 
life ; but let the inexorable hand of Death be laid upon them, 
and how changed are all our feelings towards them ! How 
remorsefully we appreciate their worth ; how despairingly we 
love them.^ What would we not sacrifice to restore motion, 
warmth, consciousness to that still, cold heart, so we might 
press it beating to our bosom : to restore light to those folded 
18 


286 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


eyes, so we might gaze into them all the remorse, all the love 
we feel, but cannot speak ; to restore life to the dead, that we 
might see them again at our fireside or table in the old, 
familiar dress, with the old, familiar look ; that we might 
serve them soul and body, day and night; that we might be a 
saint or a slave to them thenceforth for ever ! Take a closer 
case ; take that of your Alice. Could now the doors of that 
vault where you laid her fly open and yield up its beautiful 
dead — or, to leave the supernatural and impossible out of the 
question, could Alice be found to have been laid there during 
a fit of epilepsy, as has sometimes been the case with others, 
and could she now be restored to you living, loving, would 
you not rejoice as you never rejoiced before — would you not 
love and value her as you never loved or valued her before — 
would you not do anything on earth to render her renewed 
life happy Magnus paused again to see the effect of this 
hint of the truth, thinking also, that in the event of General 
Garnet remaining obdurate, he had possibly verged too nearly 
upon a disclosure. 

But the stern, immovable countenance of the latter betrayed 
no emotion either of suspicion or of relenting. It positively 
gave no clue to his thoughts or feelings. Magnus hoped the 
best, yet withdrew from the precipice of a dangerous confi- 
dence, by saying. 

But to leave improhahle things also. Could you wake up 
in the morning and find that you had only dreamed her 
death, and see her by your side — living, beautiful, loving — 
would you not clasp her to your heart in joy, exclaiming, ‘Oh, 
dearest wife, I have had such a dreadful dream ! It seemed, 
too, so very real. I dreamed that you were dead, Alice. 
Thank God, it was nothing hut a dream ! Now, ask me what 
you will, Alice, for I am so happy to know I have you yet — 
to know that you have not gone from my side, but are here — 
here ! — that I can refuse you nothing.^ Would those not be 
your words and feelings ? And what would Alice say — what 
would Alice ask ? What was nearest her heart when she fell - 
asleep ? What would she say could she now be restored, and 
should you ask her what would make her happy, but, ‘ Father, 
be reconciled to your daughter T General Garnet, the same 
letter that announced our sudden and mutual bereavement, the 
letter of that Christian minister, expressed a hope that the 


THE INTERVIEW. 287 

hand of Death, which had led our friend away from our midst, 
leaving us all in a common sorrow, might reunite our hands 
in amity. General Garnet, that hope is my prayer. I entreat 
you, take my hand 

General Garnet recoiled a step, and answered, scornfully. 
Sir, I know you for an orator of old. But if you hope to 
work upon my feelings through the sorrow of my recent and 
very sudden loss, you deceive yourself. And now, hear me I 
Could — as you have put the question — could the doors of my 
wife^s tomb fly open — and could she be restored to me, living, 
loving, in all the beauty and goodness of her being — could 
such impossibilities occur — and should the first boon she craved 
to bless her renewed life, be the reconciliation you desire, 
that boon would be refused, though that refusal should send 
her back into the grave ! Now I hope you understand me 
thoroughly.^^ 

Doctor Hardcastle nodded his head several times, keeping 
time to his thought, as he said, in his heart. 

And little do you surmise, poor man, that your refusal 
will send her back to the grave — -for you. That she will be 
indeed dead — to you 1” 

General Garnet, taking this nod for one of assent, added. 
And now, I hope, sir, that no more false hopes may bo 
raised upon me. Neither you nor your wife need ever expect 
anything at my hands. By my fireside, and at my board, and 
in my heart, the place of the late Miss Garnet is filled. This 
little girl, sir, is my daughter and heiress. I have regularly 
and legally adopted her. The late Miss Garnet had, but for 
your reminder, passed from my memory. Mrs. Hardcastle 
is an alien and a stranger, and I desire that she remain such. 
I beg you also to remember, sir, that though I have a slight 
electioneering acquaintance with Doctor Hardcastle, such as 
every prominent politician may have with persons, not to be 
recognised under any other circumstances, I do not wish even 
that acquaintance to continue. And I beg you to recollect 
that I have never even seen Mrs. Hardcastle, and never wish to 
see her. I do not know the person, and never wish to know her. 
Have you any thing more to advance. Doctor Hardcastle V* 
Yes, sir V’ said Magnus, drawing himself up, and as his 
fine chest expanded, looking at his adversary, with a brow — 
glance that made him quail and drop his eyes. You have 


•288 THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 

iared to misrepresent my purpose in coming to you, or else 
you have naturally mistaken my motives — naturally — for it 
may not be in your nature to understand them. Yet no, it is 
not so. You do not mistake me. And do not dare to affect 
it again. You know that your fortune is nothing, absolutely 
nothing to me, and never was. So little do rank and fortune 
weigh with me against hearts and souls, that had I been a 
millionaire, and had Elsie been the child of a beggar instead 
of the daughter of General Garnet, and the heiress of Mount 
Calm, I would have taken her to my bosom in the face of all 
the world. And more, farther , — had Elsie possessed, in her 
own unalienable right, hundreds of millions, and I possessed 
no more than the clothes I wore, I would have married her, 
and not thanked her for the millions she brought me, but 
simply loved her for the beauty, the goodness, the love, the 
dear womanhood she gave me. So little do I value money 
where nature and affection are concerned. As it is, we are both 
poor, both will have to work hard. Elsie has chosen her lot 
in life, and shall abide by it. Even you, her father, shall not 
rescue her from it with your wealth. You cannot change her 
destiny. Your fortune could not do it. I am resolved to 
make, to command whatever success may be in life for us. 
Yet,^^ he added, with a softening brow and tone, yet, hither 
of my dear wife — for her sake — ^for your own — for mine, I 
would be reconciled with you. Spite of all the bitter things 
written upon your forehead, and spoken by your lips, and which 
I do not think your heart endorses, I would be at peace with 
you ; bitter talk is but hasty breath. Let us forget it. Let 
us be friends. Now, then, for the last time, I offer you my 
hand. For the last time, I beseech you take it.’^ 

General Garnet frowned darkly, and averted his head. 

But Nettie, who had been gazing kindly and admiringly at 
the speaker, now suddenly thrust out her little hand, and em- 
phatically striking^t into the broad, open palm of Magnus, 
exclaimed, cordially, 

“Yes ! Let us be friends. Pll be friends. I like you.^^ 

There was no resisting that sparkling, cordial smile — that 
earnest, confiding manner, and Magnus closed his hand upon 
the child’s hand, pressing it kindly. 

“ Godfather, why don’t you ask the good-looking gentle- 
man to sit down, and I why don’t you ring the bell and have 


THE INTERVIEW. 


289 


wine brongliv, for him like you did for Mr. Judge Jacky ? 
Sit down, gentleman, in that arm-chair, and I will go and ring 
the bell she said, jumping down, and running to the bell- 
rope, which she pulled vigorously. 

“ Will you be seated, sir V’ said General Garnet, ironically. 

^‘Will you first take my hand. General Garnet 
No, sir! To forbear is the utmost limit of my self-con- 
tiol. I cannot go farther, and forgive. Yet you are in my 
house — standing by my fireside. While you bestow upon us 
your presence, I beg you be seated.^^ 

Magnus waved his hand in rejection of this invitation, and 
turned to go, but Nettie, returning from her vociferous bell- 
ringing, stopped him by seizing both his hands and leaning 
up against him as she exclaimed. 

No ! you mustn’t go till you get something — I hear a boy 
coming now.^^ 

And at this moment, indeed, the door was opened, and a 
waiter appeared, in answer to the noisy summons. 

Get some good wine and some sort o’ witches — you make 
with bread and butter and ham — sa?ir?witches, and bring up 
here for this gentleman. And make haste, you hear, because 
he-is in a hurry,” said Nettie to the waiter. 

The man looked with surprise and perplexity from the self- 
constituted little mistress to the master. And General Gar- 
net, in some perversity of mood, exclaimed, fiercely. 

Well, sir ! Why do you pause ? did you hear Miss Sea- 
bright’s order V’ 

Yes,- sir, but — ” 

^^Go and obey it, then. Do you wait for me to tell you 
that her commands here are only second to my own 

‘‘Yes, why don’t you go along when I tell you that the 
good-looking gentleman is in a great hurry ? What makes you 
look so queer V’ exclaimed Nettie, stamping with impatience, 
but not with ill-humour. 

, The man bowed and withdrew. 

Again Doctor Hardcastle sought to free himself from hia 
loving little captor, but Nettie clung to him like a, very nettle, 
or an opossum to a tree, exclaiming, 

“No, sir, you mustn’t go; you shan’t go, till the wine 
comes.” 

And before he could get away, the wine and sandwiches ar- 


290 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


rived. As the waiter walked straight up the room and set the 
refreshments upon the table, General Garnet turned coldly to 
Doctor Hardcastle, saying, 

My little daughter invites you to take something. WiU 
you do so, sir 

Doctor Hardcastle, who had been released by Nettie, de- 
clined the invitation, and retired — followed into the hall by 
Nettie, who sought to recapture and detain him. He raisea 
the child, kissed her, and left the house. 

After he had gone, Nettie remained standing in the hall so 
long, that General Garnet came out to seek her. Having 
found her, he exclaimed, 

Why do you linger so, my little Nettie ? Come with me 
into the library, and let us go on with the pictures and stories.'^ 
don^t want to go back to the library with ^ou, god- 
father.^^ 

What ! donH want to return with me and see the beautiful 
pictures, and hear the wonderful stories 

‘^No, I donH care for the pictures, nor the stories, nor you 
either, godfather. I want to go to my own room — and I wish 
you would call my maid.^' 

Whe-ew ! how my little princess takes state upon hersall ! 
But I must say it becomes her — rarely. But why does she 
not care for pictures, stories, or godfather either V* 

Because, godfather, you treated the pleasant-spoken gen- 
tleman so meanly. Tm sure when I and Hugh, and granny, 
lived in the poor lodge, and had nothing to offer but persim- 
mon beer and sour, knobby apples, we never treated Qur visit- 
ers so meanly. No, that we didn’t. Granny used to say ^ Hos- 
pit — something or other, before everything,’ which meant 
that it was a shame to treat well-behaved company meanly. 
And you treated the pleasant-spoken gentleman meanly. ’Deed 
1 thought he preached nice as the parson. But you treated 
him meanly — and I donH want to have anything to do with 
you, and I won't either have anything to do with you, god- 
father. I want my maid. Will you please to send her to me ?” 

Piqued, amused, attracted by the naive candour and courage 
of the fond but passionate child. General Garnet laughed and 
held out his arms, saying, 

“ Oh, come to me, my little Nettie. Come and kiss me, 
and give me one of your tight hugs.” 


THE INTERVIEW. 


291 


'Deed I won’t, godfather !” 

“Won’t! Why?” 

“ ’Cause I don’t feel like it, one bit.” 

“ Don’t feel like it 1 Well, then, now what shall I give my 
little Nettle for a good hearty hug and kiss — say ? Shall it be 
a pony, or a little carriage, or a great wax doll, or what ? 
Come, say now. What shall it be ?” 

“ Nothing, godfather. You will give me all them things, 
anyhow, ’cause you promised them to me if I’d come and live 
’long o’ you. But I ain’t sure that I will take any of them — 
and I ain’t even sure that I shall stay.” 

Greneral Garnet laughed aloud, and said, 

“Very well I if you won’t come and give me a good hearty 
hug and kiss, neither for free love nor bribery, I can come and 
give you one and he went toward her. 

Nettie ran, fleio up the stairs, and from the first landing 
looked down to see if she was pursued, and said, 

•“ No you mustn’t, indeed, godfather. I had rather any on^ 
hit me a hard lick right in the face, than kiss me when I don’t 
want to be kissed. And I don’t want to be kissed by youy 
godfather. I wouldn’t kiss you hardly to save your life.” 

And having said this, Nettie fled the rest of the way up stairs. 
H(5ro was already there with a light, to take charge of her. 

“ Strange I how strange it is, that I love that wild child 
more and more — need her love more and more every hour that 
I live ! Strange, passing strange, that with all her wilful- 
ness, I love that half-savage, but most beautiful thing, better 
than I ever loved any one in the wide world I Oh, it is not 
strange, "kfter all ! It is because sh% loves me thoroughly — 
with every fibre of her soul and body ; because I can trust in 
her, for she hides nothing from me — ^not even her childish 
anger.” 


Doctor Hardcastle returned to Huttontown, and to the 
tavern where he was to lodge that night. He intended to 
retire early, preparatory to a very early start the next morn- 
ing. But first it was necessary to go to Mr. Dig’s, for the 
purpose of making a few purchases of articles that had been 
forgotten in his first packing up. 


292 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


When he entered the grocery, he saw, to his surprise^ Ilngh 
Hutton behind the counter, ready to serve him 

“Well, my boy,’^ said he, extending his hand, “I am sur- 
prised and happy to see you again/^ 

“ Oh, doctor ! have you really turned back ? I am so very 
glad I” exclaimed Hugh, his countenance actually illuminated 
with joy. 

“Yes, my boy. We had proceeded but a day’s journey, 
when we heard of Mrs. Garnet’s death, and came back.” 

“ Where is Mrs. Hardcastle ? Is she at the inn ?” 

“No, my boy ; finding that we came too late for the fune- 
ral, I took Mrs. Hardcastle immediately back to Deep Dell, 
where she now sojourns, waiting for me. I found it necessary 
to come back a second time. I have travelled the road be- 
tween Huttontown and Deep Dell forth and back twice within a 
week, Hugh ; and, to-morrow morning, at five o’clock, I make 
the third start.” 

“ The old folks say that there is great luck in the third at- 
tempt,” said Hugh. 

“ I should think there was in my instance, if I could take 
you back with me, my boy.” 

“ Oh, sir, Doctor Hardcastle, you can if you will,” exclaimed 
Hugh, in a tone of anxious, eager solicitude. 

“I assuredly willj if I can. And no obstacle exists with 
me. But your little sister, my boy ?” 

“ Oh, sir, my little sister is better provided for than T could 
nope to provide for her for many years to come. She is the 
ward of General Garnet, and he has just this morning taken 
ner home to live with him, and to be educated.” 

“ How ? What ? Is it possible ? The little, fond, wild, 
beautiful creature I saw at Mount Calm, to-night ?” 

“ Yes, sir, that was she. Garnet Seabright.” 

“What kin is she to you, boy? — not your sister 

“No kin at all, sir; but dear to me as if she were my twin 
sister.” 

“ A beautiful child ! A sweet, wild, haunting thing !” 

“ Oh, yes, sir ; and so true and good I — so trusting !” 

“A little eyrie, sprite-like thing! What a pity!” said 
Doctor Hardcastle, communing with himself ; then, raising his 
Toico, lie said, “MMl, you desire to accompany me, my boy? 


THE INTERVIEW. 293 

— ^but how long have you been with Mr. Fig, and what are 
your obligations to him 

No obligations at all, sir. The truth is, seeing that from 
having been a help to aunty and Nettie in the time of their 
need, I had got to be a hindrance in the way of their doing 
better than I could do for them, I went to Mr. Fig, and told 
him that I would sthnd behind the counter, and help about 
the store, for no more than my mere board — not even asking 
clothing — on conditions, it should be understood, I was to go 
to the West the very first chance that came. Well, Mr. Fig 
knew me, and how much I could do, and agreed to my plan ; 
and so I came this morning, and have done a very hard day’s 
work, too, — hauling several cartloads of freight from the brig 
up to the store, aud unloading them, and storing them in, and 
waiting behind the counter the rest of the time. All that 
makes me feel well to-night. So, you see, sir, I owe Mr. Fig 
nothing but good friendship ; and I am ready to set out with 
you to-morrow.” 

^^Be it so, then, my boy. And I am rejoiced to know that 
in thus following the bent of your inclinations, you abandon 
no duty. Will you join me to-night, or early to-morrow 
morning ?” 

Early to-morrow morning. Doctor Hardcastle. You may 
pick me up at the south gate of the falling-field, behind Mount 
Calm — that will be directly in your road. I must go up to 
Mount Calm, to-night, to bid good-bye to Aunt Joe and 
Nettie.” 

Very well, my boy. Be punctual.” 

And having obtained the articles for which he came, Doctor 
Hardcasfle left the store. 


That night Hugh Hutton went up to Mount Calm. He 
succeeded in obtaining entrance to his Aunt Joe’s rooms, but 
found, to his regret, that Nettie had some time before retired 
to bed, and was now fast asleep. He spent the night on a 
pallet in his aunt’s room, and in the morning made up his 
bundle to start. Miss Joe objected, cried, bemoaned her fate 
and Hugh’s, but finally consented to his departure ; for Miss 
Joe believed in Hugh, and had faith in Doctor Hardcastle ; 


294 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


besides, it would not sound so badly to tell the neighbours, by 
and bye, that her nephew, Hugh Hutton, was studying me- 
dicine underneath Doctor Hardcastle/^ So Miss Joe gave 
him her blessing, and went to wake up Nettie, to bid him 
farewell, prophesying all the while that Nettie would take on 
dreadful.’^ But Nettie did not take on^^ at all ; she threw 
herself joyously around Hughes neck, gave him a hearty hug 
and kiss, and declared, that with his bundle across his shoul- 
der, he was Jack the Giant-Killer, going to seek his fortune; 
and that he must let her know about every giant he killed, 
and every enchanted lady he freed, and every magician^s castle 
he took, and every beautiful princess that loved him. And 
then she pulled the scarlet worsted comforter from her neck, 
and wound it around Hugh’s throat, tucking the ends into his 
coat breast, and bid him good-bye. Hugh went to the door, 
turned to take a last look, impulsively darted back, clasped 
his old aunty, and then Nettie, in a last embrace, sprung from 
the room, and was gone. A rapid walk brought him to the 
spot where he found Doctor Hardcastle, just arrived in his 
carryall, waiting for him, and exclaiming — 

Just in time, my boy — ^and very welcome. Jump in I 
All rights 


/ 


ELSIE IN xHE LOG CABIN. 295 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

ELSIE IN THE LOG CABIN. 

It was a lodge of ample size, 

But strange of structure and device, 

Of such materials as around 

The workman’s hand had readiest found. — Scott. 

place selected by Magnus Hardcastle as the field oi 
h .rf lite <abour, was that grandly picturesque portion of Mary- 
Iw-id, D'lW known as Alleghany County, but then called indif- 
fb*<intlv the Mountains, the Wilderness, or the Back-woods. 
The site chosen for his home was a wildly beautiful spot in 
the midst of a deep, narrow valley, lying between two ridges 
of the Alleghany Mountains, and watered by a branch of the 
Potomac River. Although Magnus Hardcastle's first idea of 
a home in the back-woods presented nothing but a log cabin, 
and although his young and lovely bride was quite ready to 
dare and share the unmitigated rudenesses and privations of 
such a home and life, yet Providence, who tempereth the 
wind to the shorn lamb,^^ mercifully ameliorated the hardships 
of the condition for the delicately nurtured girl, who, however 
willing, was, notwithstanding all her health and strength, 
scarcely able to bear the shock of such a sharp and sudden 
change. The contents of that casket — the bridal gift of Alice 
Garnet to her daughter — amounted to nearly five thousand 
dollars, and though the whole of this sum would go but a veiy 
little way towards supplying the superfluities of a fashionable 


296 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER 


bride^s trousseau, yet the half of it went very far towards com- 
pleting and furnishing a comfortable back-woods home for our 
young couple. Their house was a log cabin indeed, but one 
of ample size,^’ and commodious appointments. 

It was near the close of a fine winter day, that Alice and 
Elsie were together in the family-room of the cabin. This 
apartment was large, and supplied with all needful furniture. 
The walls were lathed and plastered, but not whitewashed, 
and, retaining the original stone colour, gave a soberer tone 
to the air of the room. There was no carpet on the floor, but 
the broad hearth was a notable specimen of the fine arts, by 
Hugh Hutton, who declared, in his pride, that it was an inte- 
resting, instructive, and endless study, to any one fond of 
tracing the individuality, and infinite variety of natural form 
and colour. The hearth was, in fact, a fine mosaic of frag- 
ments of rocks, of divers forms, sizes, and colours, perfectly 
filled in, levelled, and chinked with a hard, white composition, 
that formed an irregular boundary line between the pieces. 
Each side the ample fire-place were dressers, constructed of 
strong plank, and at once laden and ornamented with crockery 
ware. From the lowest and broadest shelves hung dark calico 
curtains, reaching to the floor, and concealing “the humble 
little household gods,^^ as Elsie called them. There were 
chairs and tables made more for strength than beauty, ranged 
along the walls. The windows were curtained with dark calico. 
There was no article of luxury, no superfluity in the room ; 
but everything was convenient, orderly, and immaculately 
clean. 

A fine fire blazed in the broad chimney, and though the 
hour was growing dark, it illuminated the room, so as to ren- 
der a lighted candle unnecessary. The tea-kettle hung over 
the blaze, an oven lid sat upon the logs by its side, and the 
oven was turned up against the front of the fire to heat for 
baking. 

Elsie stood at a deal-table, making out biscuits— busy, 
healthful, and happy as ever. 

A little to the left of the blazing, too-hot fire, sat Alice, in 
a. rocking-chair, and — a revery. There was but one change 
in Alice since we saw her last. The sunny ringlets of her un- 
fadcd hair (be it remembered that she was but thirty-five), 
the sunny ringlets of her hair were turned around her cheek, 


ELSIE IN THE LOG CABIN. 


297 


and their ends twisted around with her hack braid. A little 
lace cap which she wore, because she said a cap was proper 
for her at her time of life, and in her relations, sat gracefully 
upon her still beauiiful head, and gave a softness to the out- 
line of her delicate and spiritual face, making her seem even 
more youthful and beautiful than before. She had been em- 
broidering an infant's dress, but the work had dropped into 
her lap, and her hand had fallen upon the little snow-white 
heap of muslin, and the richly chased gold thimble glittered 
idly in the fire-light — but the tiny foot, in the delicate slipper, 
was not idle — it turned upon the rockers of a cradle, where, 
amid downy pillows and soft white drapery, reposed a lovely 
babe of about two months of age. Altogether this beautiful 
and graceful group was a little out of keeping with the log 
cabin, to which it nevertheless lent a charm. But then, Elsie 
had always laughingly said that her mother was an ingrain 
^‘lady," while she herself, for her own part, was ^‘only a 
woman." 

Elsie having finished making out her biscuits, brought the 
tray to the fire to put them on to bake. While kneeling with 
one knee upon the hearth to arrange her bread in the oven, 
she looked up at her mother's pensive face, and said, sympa- 
thetically. 

Dear mother, it seems to me you are not happy, though 
you would have us believe it is so ?" 

Elsie, no one is perfectly happy ; that is a saying as old 
as the plucking of the forbidden fruit that first brought suffer- 
ing into the world, and yet we never believe it. We are 
ever striving for that perfect happiness which is impossi- 
ble." 

do not believe it to be impossible, dear mother. I am 
a firm believer in perfect earthly happiness ; I am so near it 
myself. Why, even now, I should be perfectly happy but for 
the shadow on your brow, mother." 

^ But,' there is ever a hut. It is the order of life, and I 
am content with it. Be at ease, dear j I, too^ should be per- 
fectly happy, hut — ” 

What, dearest mother?" 

I am a living falsehood, Elsie." 

Mother !" 

Child, I did not mean to speak so strongly. But I havo 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


298 

a secret to keep that pains me always — a sinful secret, inas- 
much as I am conscious that the keeping of it may cause sin 
in others/^ 

Sirij mother 

‘^Yes, Elsie; your father is in the prime of life; ho be- 
lieves himself to be a widower. What if he were to marry 
again 

Ha ! I never thought of that. It seems so strange to me 
that people should ever marry again.^’ 

‘‘I know it does, my happy Elsie; but, nevertheless, they 
do, you know. Elsie, I have refrained from speaking of my 
thought, because I did not wish to distress you or have an 
argument with your husband ; but, my love, I feel that I 
ought to write to Greneral G-arnet, and after that, as you and 
yours are doing so very well, and as you are all so comfortable 
and happy, and as I should not be missed among you, I think, 
if General Garnet wishes it, I ought to go home.^^ 

He will not wish it, mother; you know he has a gentle- 
manly horror of a nine days’ wonder. Sweet mother, you 
must remain with us. Not miss you, whom should we have 
to wait upon and adore if you were gone ? And as for writing, 
mother, talk to Magnus about that. Here he comes now, and 
Hugh with him, as usual, and — a stranger with him, as un- 
usual. Who can it be ?” said Elsie, as, setting the lid upon 
the oven and replacing the tray upon the table, she looked out 
of the window into the moonlit yard. 

The door opened, and Magnus Hardcastle entered, accom- 
panied by a gentleman, and followed by Hugh Hutton. The 
stranger was clothed in a suit of rusty black, his tall, slim 
figure was slightly bowed, and his black hair was thickly 
mixed with gray. 

Come in, sir ; come in, sir. Hugh, my student, there, 
will care for your horse. Come in, sir. It is needless to say 
that you are most gladly welcome. A guest is a God-send to 
us. Come to the fire, sir,” said Doctor Hardcastle, leading 
the way. 

Mrs. Garnet, let me present to you the Eeverend Mr. 
Sinclair, Missionary to the Winnebagoes, who will do us the 
honour of resting in our cabin for a few days, on his western 
•■oute. Mr. Sinclair, Mrs. Garnet, of Mount Calm.” 


fiLSlE IN THE LOG CABIN 


29 ^ 


it possible ! Alice ejaculated the stranger, dropping 
Hat, gloves, and whip, and reeling on his feet. 

A slight paleness overspread the face of the lady, but rising 
with perfect ease, she offered her hand, saying, 

Mr. Sinclair, it is many years since we last met. I am 
very glad to see you.” 

He drew back, then took the hand she offered, and looked 
wonderingly, searchingly, into her face, as if to read her soul. 
Her face was impassible to him. Turning to Doctor Hard- 
castle, she said. 

My dear Magnus, this is a very old acquaintance you have 
brought me, an acquaintance of my girlhood. Elsie, my 
love 1” 

Elsie came forward. 

Mr. Sinclair,” she continued, still retaining his hand, let 
me introduce you to my daughter, Mrs. Hardcastle. Elsie, 
my love, Mr. Sinclair is a very old friend of mine.” 

I am very glad to see you, sir. I should be glad even if 
you were a perfect stranger, but I am very glad to see an old 
friend of my mother’s. Do take this chair between mother 
and the chimney corner, sir ; it is not the post of honour, per- 
haps, but it is the most comfortable and convenient seat, as 
you can rest and toast your feet and talk over old times with 
mother at the same time — old times, I said. She does not 
look like she had seen any very old times, does she, sir ?” said 
Elsie, gayly talking on, while she shook the hand of the guest 
and installed him in his seat. 

Mamma — ^ Mrs. Garnet of Mount Calm’ — pray take the 
entertainment of Mr. Sinclair upon yourself, while I attend to 
that for which I have the most talent — I mean the creature 
comforts. Don’t tell him, mamma, that if ever I lose my soul 
through either of the three great enemies of souls, ^ the world, 
the fiesh, and the devil,’ it will be by the flesh, for that I have 
very little of worldliness, not a whit of diabolism, but a grand 
passion for creature comforts,” said Elsie, laughing, as she 
raised the lid off of the oven. These biscuits are going to 
be very nice,” she remarked, as the steam of the fresh warm 
bread greeted their nostrils. She then replaced the lid, per- 
ceived and picked up the fallen hat, gloves, and whip of the 
minister, looked at him as the most careless and slevenly man 


300 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


she ever saw in her life, brushed and put away the things, and 
hurried on with her preparations for supper. 

And is this the residence of the wealthy and distinguished 
General Garnet’s widow and daughter V’ said Sinclair, in a 
deep, stern tone, looking around upon the rough walls. 

It is the home of General Garnet’s daughter, certainly, 
and the temporary home of his wife.” 

Ah ! I beg your pardon, earnestly — ^yet — the mistake was 
very natural,” said the minister. 

H'ugh, attend to that gentleman’s animal in the very best 
manner. Gear Magnus, please to get me some more wood. 
Hugh, take the bucket, and as you come back, bring me a 
bucket of water. Dear Magnus, we must not forget to request 
the minister to christen our baby. It may be a long time 
before we have another opportunity, and anyhow, I prefer Mr. 
Sinclair to officiate ; it will be so interesting, he being mother’s 
old friend,” said Elsie, as she hurried about, speaking to first 
one and then another, attending to everything and forgetting 
nothing. Supper was speedily placed upon the table — tea, 
fresh butter and eggs, venison, and the nice biscuits. The 
minister asked a blessing, but ate little. And soon after they 
arose from the table, Mr. Sinclair pleaded fatigue, and re- 
quested to be shown to his room. 

Doctor Hardcastle attended him to his chp-mber. 

When Magnus returned to the family-room, he found the 
tea things had been already washed up and put away, the 
hearth swept, the fire replenished, and the two ladies with 
their needlework, and Hugh with his bookf^, all gathered 
around the table that was lighted by but one tallcw candle. 
He drew a chair up with the rest, and putting his hand in 
his pocket, said, 

I have got a letter from Huttontown.” 

A letter from Huttontown I” exclaimed all three, Icoking 
eagerly up. 

Yes, from Mr. Wilson.” 

What’s the news ? How is father ?” asked EJwe 

Does he speak of the General ? How is he ?” inquired 
Alice, anxiously. 

How are cdl the folks ? How is Aunt J oe and Nettie ?” 


EL8IE IN THE LOG CABIN. 801 

asked Hugh Hutton. All were speaking together, and all 
eagerly awaiting an answer. 

Peste, ladies and young gentleman, I cannot answer all 
at once,^^ said Magnus, smiling, yet with something constrained 
in his manner. will read the letter; it is very short; a 
mere note — a mere matter of business. 

Well?^^ said Alice, seeing him pause. 

“A mere announcement, in truth — a — but I will read it. 
Hugh, you’re discreet 

Yes, sir.” 

Elsie, my dear, I have been anxious to submit this letter 
to your mother and yourself all the evening.” 

Well, well, Magnus. My mother is on thorns, and I am 
scarcely more at ease. Has anything happened ? You look 
J perplexed, yet not in despair’ — not like the recipient of very 
ill news.” 

Why no, not of ill news, yet strange news ; perplexing 
news. You know before I came away from Huttontown the 
last time, I requested the Reverend Mr. Wilson to inform me 
immediately by letter of anything important that might occur 
at Mount Calm, and concern us.” 

Yes, yes. Well?” 

He has done so. Here is his letter — listen.” 

Huttontown, Jan. 18 — . 

Hear Doctor Hardcastle — At our last interview, you desired 
me, in the event of Q-eneral Garnet’s contemplating any second 
matrimonial engagement, to inform you, by letter, without 
delay, saying that it virtually concerned the welfare of all 
parties that this should instantly be done. Without having 
the most remote idea of the cause of your very emphatic in- 
structions, I hasten to obey them, by advising you that Gene- 
ral Garnet and Miss Wylie, of Point Pleasant, are to be 
married on Tuesday next. Nothing is talked of but the 
match and the great preparations making for the wedding at 
Point Pleasant, and for the reception of the bride at Mount 
Calm. The family of the lady seem very well pleased with 
the match. Ulysses Roebuck, the jilted lover, has gone — 
sailed for Europe, with the purpose of making the grand tour 

There, you have the facts that most interest you. There 
is nothing else stirring; all the same dull, dead levcl; a 
19 


302 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


birth, death, or marriage, would be an historical event in this 
village. 

With respects to your lady, I remain. 

Your sincere friend, 

E. Wilson. 

Good Heaven ! There, what did I tell you, Elsie V* ex- 
claimed Alice, clasping her hands. 

My dear mother ! my darling mother ! never mind. There 
is one love on earth that shall never fail you. I can have no 
second mother,^' said Elsie, rising and throwing her arms 
around the lady’s neck. 

Magnus, you see that I must go. I must write to-night, 
to prepare him for my arrival, and to-morrow I must set out 
myself.” 

Oh, no, mother ; don’t go ! It will be worse than ever 
now in your old home. Oh, mamma, don’t go ! Write — only 
write. Or if it be indispensable that some one go, Magnus 
will. Will you not, Magnus V’ 

I will do whatever your mother wishes.” 

Then, dearest Magnus, mail my letter to-night, even late 
IS it is, and prepare to set out with me to-morrow. Yet, no ; 
you must not leave Elsie. Prepare me a way to go alone.” 

Dear Mrs. Garnet, dear friend, I implore you not to think 
of going. I will go myself.” 

‘‘ Magnus, dear, you know that upon some points I can be 
stubborn. I must go straight to Mount Calm,” said Alice. 

And despite all arguments and entreaties, she persisted in 
her resolution. 

Then, since you xoill go, I shall attend you to the end of 
your journey, and — bring you hack — ^perhaps.” 

But, Elsie ; you can not leave her alone and unprotected 
at home.” 

She will not be alone ; Hugh will be with her ; and for 
protection, my brave wife can protect herself, if necessary. 
Pooh ! my dear madam, I would leave Elsie here in the heart 
of the wilderness, six months, if needful, without fear or 
hesitation. She is one in a million, our Elsie. What say 
you, dear Elsie ?” 

I say — go with mother if you love me, Magnus. See her 


ELSIE IN THE LOG CABIN. 803 

safe to her journey’s end, and, if it be possible, bring her safe 
hach to me again.” 

That same night Alice’s letter was written and mailed. 

The next morning at an early hour, Alice Grarnet set out, 
under the protection of Doctor Hardcastle, for the East. 

An hour later, when the Reverend Mr. Sinclair arose and 
came down to breakfast, Mrs. Hardcastle tendered him the com- 
pliments and excuses of his host, informing him that a domestic 
affair of vital moment called Mrs. Garnet suddenly to Mount 
Calm, whither Doctor Hardcastle was instantly obliged to 
attend her. 

After breakfast the minister, leaving his respects and adieus 
for the absentees, took leave and proceeded on his journey. 


804 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

WHAT CAME NEXT. 

Uncomfortable time ! why earnest thou now 
To murder — murder our solemnity ? — Shakspearb. 

It was two days before the appointed wedding day, and 
General Garnet sat in his library, over his wine, in deep 
consultation with his lawyer. 

And, you say, sir, that my will might be successfully con- 
tested he asked, setting down his empty glass, and looking 
anxiously, half angrily, at the attorney. 

I give it, sir, as my best digested legal opinion, that in 
the event of your death, should the will by which you bequeath 
all this vast property to your adopted daughter, be contested. 
It would probably be set aside in favour of Alice Chester Hard- 
castle, the only living representative of the old Chester family, 
who have held the land from the first settlement of the country 
to the present time — ^upwards of two hundred years. You 
know, sir, that the decision of the case would rest finally with 
the jury, and such are the prejudices in favour of wealth, rank, 
hereditary descent, and — ” 

Well ! speak out — -justice^ you would add, 1 suppose,^' said 
General Garnet, filling his glass, and passing the bottle. 

The lawyer bowed. 

^^Well, sir! what of these prejudices? — finish your sen 
tence.^' 

That scarce a^ury could be found to give a verdict against 
vour legal daughter — a Chester — and in favour of your — , — 1 
beg your pardon — adopted daughter — a stranger and an alien-^^ 


WHAT CAME NEXT. 


305 


Sir, you know nothing of the law. I shall seek better 
legal advice,’^ exclaimed Qeneral Glarnet, bringing down his 
glass upon the table with a force that shivered it, and rising 
in an excited manner. 

“You may seek other, and find more palatable advice, sir. 
Our consultation ends here. I wish you good-evening, sir,^' 
said the lawyer, rising, and going to the door. 

“ Stay \” said General Garnet, going after him. 

But the attorney bowed deeply, and retired. 

General Garnet continued to pace up and down the floor, 
with a strange, excited manner, totally at variance with his 
usual serene self-possession. Frequently, also, he stopped — - 
poured out, and quaffed a glass of wine. At last, pausing, he 
struck his forehead, emphatically exclaiming — 

“ I have it, now ! — a deed ! To-morrow morning, the first 
thing I do will be to have drawn up, sign, seal and record a 
deed of conveyance, giving the whole of this estate to Garnet 
Seabright, and retaining only a life interest in it myself. Yes ! 
a deed ! There will be no contesting or setting aside that, 1 
fancy. And whether I die next year, or a hundred years 
hence, Nettie, if she lives, becomes possessed of all this pro- 
perty. Yes ! yes ! I must revenge myself upon Hardcastlo. 
I must punish that ungrateful daughter — true scion of the 
stubborn Chesters. And by all means, by any means — I must 
— WILL ! — elevate and aggrandize Nettie — my cllild, my dar- 
ling, my darling, the only thing on earth that loves me. Yes ! 
elevate and aggrandize her until I force the world to recog- 
nise her. Nettie, my hearths core ! — whose thought has power 
to banish even the image of my young bride from my mind ! 
— to banish it, because fair and lovely and loving as she is — 
her fantastical and selfish passion, flattering as it is — is a more 
selfish thing than your sweet, frank affection, my darling child. 
Yet she is beautiful, this fervid Ambrosia ! And once this 
business settled — this deed that secures wealth and rank to 
my Nettie, executed and recorded, I shall be free to yield up 
soul and senses to this dream of passion. How my thoughts 
wander ! I am giddy. I am not well. When ever did I 
talk to myself before ? I must stop this. I will consult a 
physician to-morrow,’^ said General Garnet, sitting down, and 
drinking great draughts of wine. 

The next day, true to his purpose, he rode to Huttontown, 


306 THE DISCARDED J'AUGIITER. 

and had the deed of conveyance, giving all the great Mount 
Calm property to Carnet Seabright, and reserving only a life- 
interest in it himself, drawn up, signed, and witnessed with 
ill legal formula. Then he rode with it himself to the county 
town, and had it recorded. In the course of the day the slight 
indications of approaching illness that had visited him the 
night before, returned, and now, with more marked emphasis. 
Sudden vertigo, with failure of sight and confusion of thought, 
would seize him an instant, pass away — ^return again, and 
again pass. He drew up his horse at last before a doctor's 
oflGlce, entered, sat down, and apologizing for troubling the phy- 
sician with such a trifling indisposition, by saying jestingly, 
that he wished to be in perfect health upon his wedding-day 
— he related his symptoms. 

“ It is nothing, sir," said the physician, after he had felt 
his pulse, &c. It is nothing. Do not be alarmed, I beseech 
you ! Keep a calm mind ; it is of vital importance that you 
keep a calm mind. I would advise you to defer your mar- 
riage for a few weeks." 

Do you think, sir, that I am threatened with — 

No, sir ! Oh, no, there is not the least occasion for alarm ) 
these symptoms must yield to a very little judicious treat- 
ment. Abstain from the use of wine and stimulating food, 
and above all things, avoid all agitation and excitement^ heep 
from all places and persons that have the least effect upon your 
nerves. A day or so will set you up again. Stay, I will write 
you a little prescription. Here, sir, take this — it is simply 
a cooling draught — follow my directions, and all will be right." 

Ceneral Carnet took the scrap of paper, bowed, and with- 
drew, with a contemptuous smile upon his lips, muttering to 
himself, 

“ Fool that I am, to seek medical advice of a fellow whose 
interest it is to make and keep me ill for a month or so I 
Shall I take this prescription, now ? No, I feel better already. 
The fresh air has revived me. I will go to Point Pleasant 
and spend the evening with Ambrosia ; her sweet smile and 
gentle touch will charm this fltful illness." 

And turning his horse’s head, Ceneral Carnet took the road 
to Judge Wylie’s. The sky was clouding up, but heedless of 
the threatened rain, he rode on rapidly to Point Pleasant He 
spent a long, delightful evening with Miss Wylie, and left, at 


WHAT CAME NEXT. 


307 

a late hour, more intoxicated than ever with the alluring beauty 
of his promised bride, and Repeating, in an impassioned tone, 
many times, the words of his parting : To-morrow ! oh, to- 
morroiOf Ambrosia/^ 

^ He faced a cold and driving rain all the way home, and ar« 
rived at his own gate, dripping wet. 

Throwing the reins of his horse to an attendant, he hastened 
into the house. The voice of Nettie greeted him. 

Here, godfather ! come in here to the library ; here is a 
good fire, and your dressing-gown and slippers all warm, and 
hot coffee and oysters and wine. I made them for you.^^ 
Divesting himself of his wet overcoat, cap, leggings and 
gloves, he walked into the library, where he found Nettie pre- 
siding over the comforts she had prepared for him. 

My dear little brownie ! Why are you up so late ?” 

^^The rain waked me up, godfather, and then I couldnH 
sleep any more for thinking you were out in it. So I got up 
and dressed myself, and came down here to make things com- 
fortable for you.^^ 

My own Nettie ! /have been making things comfortable 
for ^ou, also ! But where is your granny 

G-one to bed these two hours.^^ 

And now ^ou must go, my dear little one. Come and kiss 
me close, and then, good-night.^^ 

The elf sprang to his neck, squeezing him tightly, and 
rooting herself into his bosom, as though she would grow there, 
and then suddenly springing off, bounded from the room. 

The little supper standing before him did not tempt his ap- 
petite. With another retrospective glance of contempt at the 
physician’s advice, he turned to the table and poured out and 
swallowed glass after glass of wine. Then, without heeding 
tlie mail-bag that hung upon the chair, or ringing for a servant 
to clear off the things, or even closing up the house as was his 
invariable custom, he arose and retired to his chamber. 


At this same hour, on the turnpike road, about six miles 
distani from Mount Calm, plunged on through darkness, mire 
and driving rain, a one-horse chaise, occupied by two travellers 
« — Doctor Hardcastle and Mrs. Garnet. They travelled on in 
perfect silence for two hours, before reaching the grounds of 


808 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


Mount Calm. But, upon passing the outer gate and entering 
upon the premises, Alice became nervous and uneasy, and at 
length she asked, 

Magnus, do you feel positively assured that he has received 
my letter, that he is prepared and expecting to see me 

Without a doubt, dear Mrs. G-arnet, he got your letter to- 
day at noon ; assuredly, late as it is, he must be now expect- 
ing us.^^ 

I wonder if he really doe^. I wonder if he has spread the 
news among the people of the plantation ! It is really neces- 
sary to know, dear Magnus. Else my sudden and unexpected 
apparition among them will cause a general alarm, and rouse 
the neighbourhood.^^ 

Very true, and at the first quarter I come to, I will alight 
and find out.^^ 

They rode on in silence until they came to a solitary quarter 
on the outskirts of the plantation. Then Doctor Hardcastle 
alighting, gave the reins to Mrs. Garnet, and trudged through 
the deep mud and pelting rain, to the cabin from whence a 
faint light issued, and the low, sweet sound of a violin was 
heard. He rapped smartly with the handle of his riding whip. 
The music ceased, and a voice, which he recognised as belong- 
^ ing to Bob, the driver, called out from within, 

Hoo dar ! rappin^ at my door dis onseasonable hour o^ de 
night 

‘‘ Me, Bob ! your old friend. Doctor Hardcastle 3 open the 
door and show yourself.'^ 

^‘Oh, my Gor A’mighty, Marse Magnate, is it you, sure 
^nough, come from forrin parts ejaculated the old negro, 
fumbling at the wooden latch and wrenching open the door. 
^^Come in, come in — come in, Marse Magnate, come in. Oh, 
my bressed Lori ! I’m so joyed to see you. How is Miss Elsie ! 
she long 0’ you ? Come in 

No, Bob, I can not come in. I am going straight on to 
the house. Elsie is not with me ; she is at home, and well ! 
1 can't come in. I only called by to see you, my old friend, 
and to ask you if all were well at the house, and if anything 
new had happened." 

All well dar, honey, 'deed dey is, fus rate. Nuffin new, 
honey, 'cept 'tis Marse I’ on gwine be marry to Miss Ambush 
Wylie, to-morrow night." 


WHAT ,CAXB NEXT. 309 

Ah ! Well, I wrote to General Garnet to say that I was 
coming to-night ; is he expecting me, do you know V* 

‘^^Deed he got de letter, honey, caze I fotch it from de pos' 
office myself dis mornin^, an’ de pos’ marser said how it war 
?rom out youder where you gone to. But I never hear Gen- 
eral I’on say nuffin ’bout ’spectin’ no one to de weddin’, ’deed 
I didn’t, honey. Let me run along to de house an’ rouse ’em 
all up and tell ole marse how you’ve come.” 

No, by no means. Bob. Thank you, good-night,” said 
Doctor Hardcastle, jumping into the carriage. 

^^All right, he has received your letter, madam; but has 
not imparted its contents to any one. He is doubtless expect- 
ing you momentarily ; but as no one else is, your sudden ap- 
pearance would strike a panic to the household, suddenly 
roused up out of their sleep, or perhaps send them all shriek- 
ing from the plantation.” 

^^But, would not your presence by my side — they know 
you’re alive — re-assure them.” 

My dear Mrs. Garnet, they assisted at your funeral, twelve 
months ago, and seeing us enter at midnight together, will 
sooner believe me to be a second ghost, than you to be a living 
woman. No, my dear friend, you must veil yourself closely, 
and after I have got you into the house, pass quietly up to 
General Garnet’s chamber, and reveal yourself to him. Here 
we are at last,” said Doctor Hardcastle, pulling up before the 
front door of the mansion. 

All was dark except a fitful light that gleamed and sunk, 
and gleamed and sunk, from the upper windows of General 
Garnet’s chamber — as of a candle expiring there in the socket. 

^^It must be near two o’clock — yet he is still sitting up for 
me — see there,” whispered Alice, pointing to the flashing and 
darkening light. 

He must be alone, and have dropped asleep by that ex- 
piring light,” murmured Magnus, as he led her up the stairs 
to the front door. ^^Now, courage, my dear friend. Remem- 
ber, that in me you have a protector near you,” whispered 
Doctor Hardcastle, as he fumbled about in the dark for the 
knocker. In doing so the door swung silently open — it had 
evidently been left ajar. They entered noiselessly. The hall 
was perfectly dark and silent ; no sound was heard but the 
moan of the wind and the heavy fall of the rain without 


310 


THE DIc5CARDED DAUGHTER. 


*^Now, dearest Alice, he has evidently left the door ajar that 
you might enter without rousing the servants, and make your 
way at once to his chamber, where he awaits you. Go on — 
yet ! STAY ! I do not like the looks of this thing either. No 
one knows of your existence — no one knows that you were eX' 
pected here ; he awaits you alone in the solitude, silence, and 
darkness of deep night. No, Alice ! I cannot let you go alone 
to his baleful presence — I must attend you.^^ 

^^Not for the world, Magnus. What monstrous thought io 
in your mind ? Does midnight storm and solitude raise such 
phantoms of fear in your strong mind 

Alice ! bethink you ! he is a man of fearful passions, yet 
of profound subtlety and secretiveness. He believed you dead, 
and was about to be married. He finds that he has been de- 
ceived in your death, and that his own marriage is about to 
be ridiculously broken off. He has imaginary injuries to re- 
venge, and endangered joys to secure — both ends to be reached 
by one means. And more than all, he has the fearful temp- 
tation of fancied impunity. Alice, take care ! this open door 
— this silent house — this lonely watcher in the solitary cham- 
ber — this deep night hour — and the expected lonely visiter. 
Alice, take care V’ whispered Magnus. 

^‘Horrible! most horrible. You make my blood curdle. 
Not with fear, but with horror, at the monster in your imagi- 
nation. You must not enter with me. I will go in alone. 
Follow, if you please to do so, at a short distance, /have no 
such dreadful fear or doubt. I tremble, it is true; but I 
should also tremble if, in broad daylight, a score of people 
witnessed our meeting. Come on, and remain upon the land- 
ing while I go in.^^ 

They passed silently up the stairs, and Alice, more dead than 
alive-T-really almost pale and cold as a corpse — reached the 
door of General Garnet’s chamber, into which we must neces- 
sarily precede her, to describe how passed the interval between 
the moment of his retiring thither, and that of her arrival. 


On entering his chamber. G eneral Garnet suddenly bethought 
himself of something — he could not exactly think what — for- 
gotten. A strange absence of mind, temporary loss of memo- 
ry, tiansient confusioa of thought, had fitfully afflicted him all 


311 


WIIAT> CAME NEXT. 

day long. He put his hana to his forehead, and walked up and 
down in doubt and perplexity, then suddenly recollecting what 
he wanted, he rang the bell, and when .a servant, half-dressed, 
appeared, demanded, impatiently — 

Anything from the post office, to-day, sir 

“ Yes, marser. Bob, he went to de post office, an^ fetch 
de lag.^^ 

“ Then where is it, you scoundrel ? and why was it not 
brought to me V’ stamped the master. 

He-ur-ur-ur — ” stammered the negro, in fear and perplex- 
ity, scratching his head for an answer. 

Sir thundered General Garnet. 

And the reply bolted from the lips of the negro as if thumped 
out by a blow between his shoulders. 

^^Ugh! Yes, sir! You wanH corned home when it ^riv, 
marser, an^ I hanged it on a chair by de liberry table, where 
you could see it when you comed.^^ 

And if I had forgotten all about it, as I did, you scoundrel i 
Go, and bring it to me. Vanish. 

The man precipitately retreated, and soon re-appeared with 
the mail-bag, which he placed in the hands of his master, who 
immediately opened, and turned out its contents. 

Only one letter ! And that — D n 1’^ exclaimed Gene- 

ral Garnet, recognising the handwriting of Magnus Hardcastle 
in the superscription of Alice’s letter. ‘‘ Here, you sir ! Come 
here !” added he, hastily blotting out the superscription, and 
re-directing it. Come here I take this letter ! By the earli- 
est dawn to-morrow, take it back to the post office, that it 
may be in time for the mail, and tell the postmaster to send 
it back where it came from.” He tossed the letter towards the 
feet of the negro, who tremblingly approached, picked it up, 
and retired from the chamber. 

Left alone, he paced up and down the floor in troubled 
thought, for about the space of an hour. All about the house 
was proWndly still ; no sound was beard but the mournful 
murmur of the wind, and the dreary beating of the rain. The 
clock struck twelve, and the strokes fell through the awful 
stillness of the night with preternatural solemnity. 

“ So late I and I not yet — calm enough to sleep — -fearing 
to sleep, almost, lest I should never wake again. What fa 
this ? Why now, does the solitude and silence of my cham- 


812 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


ber so affect — so appal me ? The truth is, 1 am ill ! — must be, 
or I should not be so weak. I did not kill her. No, I did 
not kill her. I did not take any means to recover her for 
hours? Well! what if I did not? That was not murder I 
I let her die in her fit for want of assistance? She might 
have died anyhow. Why hoes her image haunt my bed, driv- 
ing sleep thence ? Oh, miserable weakness ! Oh, cowardice ! 
Would my bitterest enemy believe it of me ? — that I dread to 
look around me, lest I see her face ? It is this that is my ill- 
ness. Oh ! doctor, can your drugs banish her thought ? 
Pshaw ! They say nothing evil can come into the neighbour- 
hood of innocence. Nettie ! my Nettie is near me I in the 
next room. Surely my reason wanders. What evil could 
come nigh me I She was not^eviF on earth. She is not 
^evik in Heaven. She would not avenge herself, if she could. 
Oh, wretched drivelling 1 What am I talking of? I am ill — 
I must be. It is illness that raises these phantoms of dread. 
And solitude and uncommunicated thoughts and sorrows have 
caused this illness. Courage ! This is my last lonely night. 
To-morrow, and ever after to-morrow, the cheerful face of that 
fair girl shall banish all such sickly fancies. To-morrow, and 
ever after to-morrow. But, to-night, I cannot rest at all. I 
— I will go and look at Nettie, sleeping, the innocence of 
slumbering childhood shall disperse the cloud of devils lower- 
ing over me. Nettie ! ^The sins of (he father shall he visited 
upon the children — \ 1 dare not. No I I dare not now. 

No ! I dare not.^^ 

He dropped upon a chair — struck both hands to his forehead 
— whence the cold sweat oozed. He sat there, heedless, while 
the wind moaned around the house, and the rain beat drearily 
against the windows. He sat there, motionless, until the clock 
struck one, and the stroke fell like a knell. He started then, 
but relapsed, immediately, into statue-like stillness. The 
hour passed on, while the rain still beat, and the .wind still 
moaned. The candle burned low in its socket, but he did not 
heed it. It flashed — Ailing the room with a strange brilliancy, 
and sunk, leaving it in darkness — ^but he did not heed it. It 
flashed and darkened — and flashed and darkened ever — but he 
did not heed it. 

The door swung open — ^but he did not know it. Alice — his 
lost wife, stood within, motionless — ^pale — but he did not see 


313 


WHAT PAME NEXT. 

her. She gazed at him — growing paler every instant — she 
glided towards him — she stood over him — v/here he sat, with 
his face buried in his hands — but he gave no sign of conscious- 
ness. Trembling, pale, and cold with fear, she laid her icy 
hands upon him, saying, in a voice faint and hollow with ex- 
hausting emotion — 

“ Aaron, I have come.'' 

He sprang up, as if shot ; his face ashy pale, his counte- 
nance aghast, hair bristling, eyes starting with horror, as he 
exclaimed — 

Then such things are ! You have taken form at last ! 
— or else — ^yes ! — it must be so — I am mad — MAD ! — 

Dashing his hands against his forehead, as though to shut 
out a horrible vision, he sunk back into his chair. 

Astonished, terrified, shuddering, Alice approached again 
kneeled by his side, spoke gently, soothingly, deprecatingly 
to him. 

But, ere she ceased speaking, his hands dropped from his 
forehead, his head sank upon his bosom, his form swayed to 
and fro an instant, and then he fell forward, prostrate, at the 
feet of his wife. 

A succession of violent screams from Alice, brought Doctor 
Hardcastle rushing in at one door, and Nettie, in her night- 
gown, flying in at the other. 

They gathered around the fallen man. They raised him, 
get him in his chair. 

General Garnet was dead I 

Hi ♦ ♦ ♦ 

After that, the wild shrieks of a distracted child, refusing 
to be comforted, filled the house of death. 


THB DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


/ 

814 


CHAPTER XL. 

THE FLIGHT OF TIME. 

And years flew by, and the tale at last 
Was told as a sorrowful one, long past. 

Misletoe Bough. 

It was the mornings of Garnet Seahright’s majority, when 
she was to come into possession of the vast estate given her by 
her adopted father, and she was expecting a visit from her 
trustee to give an account of his stewardship, and yield up his 
office. 

Lionel Hardcastle, fore-ordained by General Garnet as the 
husband of his inheritrix, had been appointed trustee of the 
estate, and guardian of the heiress, and of — his own interests 
at the same time. 

And well had he fulfilled his trust ; no Eastern despot had 
ever established a stricter guard over a young Georgian maid, 
than did this guardian over the heiress. At the early age of 
twelve he had placed her at a strict convent school, where she 
avowed that she had to eat, drink, and sleep j pray, sing, and 
learn lessons; sit, stand, and walk; by exact rule.^ We may 
fancy the effect of such a discipline upon our wild child. The 
fleet deer of the mountain — penned ! the free bird of the air 
caged ! was nothing to this wild child of sea and land — con- 
fined ! At first she was anxious to go ; for all children like 
change ; but at the first visit of her guardian, whom with her 
confiding nature she already loved, she sprang upon his lap, 
tlirew her arms around his neck, entreated, prayed, wept to be 


THE FLIGHT OP TIME. 


315 

taken away ; and when she found her vehement solicitations 
vain, she passionately dashed her hand into his face, called 
him an evil spirit, sprang from his arms, and threw herself 
face downwards flat upon the floor; called the good sisterhood 
a pack of old witches, with Hecate at their head, and threat- 
ened to starve herself to death, as the partridge did she tried 
to tame once ; and so, by this conduct, got herself into disgrace 
for a week There is great adaptativeness in childhood, and in 
time our little girl became reconciled to her convent, especially 
as the gentle nuns took an affectionate interest in civilizing the 
little barbarian, who, notwithstanding her faults, drew all hearts 
to herself. The effect of this conventual education was alto- 
gether good. It cultivated and directed the powers of her 
intellect and moral sense, and taught her to control the almost 
savage strength and daring of her passionate and energetic 
nature. But she left the convent distinguished by the same 
inflexibility of will with which she had entered its walls. By 
the will of her adopted father, she was not to marry until she 
had attained the age of twenty-one, and though then her choice 
was not absolutely controlled, it was directed to her guardian. 
It was upon this account, and to seclude her from society, and 
the chance of forming another attachment, that, despite the 
conscientious expostulations of the- Mother Superior, he left 
her boarding at the convent until she had nearly reached her 
twentieth birth-day. About that time. Miss Seabright became 
inspired with a desire to see the world — not society, but the 
earth and all thereon; so, without asking any favours, she 
expressed her will to leave the convent and travel for a year. 
This proposition well suited the views of her guardian, as it 
obviated the awkward necessity of leaving her in the convent, 
or the impolitic alternative of introducing her into society, and 
gave him an admirable opportunity of pressing his suit, and 
even imposing upon her the inevitable propriety of accepting 
him. 

They made the tour of Europe together, journeying over 
the kindred soil of Old England, the sunny land^^ of France, 
the old chivalric mountains of Spain, the classic plains of Italy 
and G-reece, the Alpine precipices of Switzerland; along the 
forest, rock, and castle-shadowed rivers of Germany; over the 
snow-clad plains of Kussia, and thence down amid the mosques 
/ind seraglios of Turkey. By Mr. Hardcas tie’s position and 


816 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


oonnexion in America, and his letters of presentation to oui 
ministers abroad, he might have obtained introduction for 
himself and ward into the best society of every capital in 
Europe, but it did not suit his policy to do so. And: even 
wnen her love of travel was somewhat sated, and Miss Sea- 
bright expressed a desire to enter the world of society, he put 
her off from time to time with various excuses. As her wish 
to mingle with the world was not very strong, she did not 
insist. And thus at the end of thirteen months^ travel in 
Europe, Miss Seabright set out on her return home as inno- 
cent of the knowledge’^ of the world as when she had left her 
convent walls. She had had the opportunity of studying deeply 
but one specimen of human nature, and him she had well learned 
— her guardian and travelling companion, Lionel Hardcastle. 
Repeatedly had he pressed his suit, and eloquently had he 
pleaded the passion with which his recent intimate association 
with the unique and beautiful girl had inspired him. And 
repeatedly, amid protestations of gratitude and friendship, had 
she lamented her utter inability to meet his love. He hided 
his time ! 

It was in this relative position that the guardian and ward 
returned to Mount Calm early in the spring of 18 — . Miss 
Seabright had gratified her artistic taste by the collection of 
rare articles of virth ; specimens of ancient art ; one or two 
fine old oil paintings by the old masters; a few choice statuettes, 
&c., in Italy, and had indulged her love of luxury with the 
purchase of elegant furniture in France. These had been 
transported to Mount Calm, where the mansion-house had 
been superbly fitted up for the reception of its young 
mistress. 

It was then a fine day in the month of March that Miss Sea- 
bright sat in her library, awaiting the arrival of her guardian. 
This superb apartment was even more luxuriously furnished 
than before. In addition to the gorgeous furniture, costly 
books, and choice pictures and statues, there were other and 
rarer works of art: various instruments of music; elegant 
vases filled with exotics ; throwing an air of high refinement 
over the splendour and luxury of the room. Miss Seabright 
paced slowly up and down this room with a majestic tread, in 
profound yet joyous thought. It is said that the greatest 
charm of beauty consists in some peculiarity ; no one could 


THE FLIGHT OF TIME. 317 

have gazed on Garnet Seabriglit without feeling the truth of 
that. ^ Observe her ! at first glance she seems only a very fine, 
imperial looking woman, arrayed in a rich, dark satin, with a 
high, Eoman profile, and a profusion of jong black ringlets 
falling before, and looped up with a jewelled comb behind. 
Yet observe her closer ; the peculiarity of Garnet Seabright’s 
wonderful beauty was in the colour of her hair, eyes, and eye- 
brows. See, as she slowly crosses that sunbeam from the 
window ; the hair you thought so black scintillates in thread- 
like rings of crimson fire wherever the sun falls ; and the eyes 
that seemed so dark and tender burn with an unquenchable 
light that half terrifies while it attracts you. The character 
of that beauty would be fierce as well as fiery, but for the 
delicacy of the forehead, nose, and rounded chin, and the 
ineffable tenderness of the lips ; they reassure you ; silently 
they tell you that blaze as those burning eyes may, there is a 
world of charity, tenderness, forbearance, upon which you 
might throw yourself with all your sins and sorrows, and be 
sure of sympathy, comfort, and repose. 

Mr. Lionel Hardcastle announced a servant, throwing 
open the door. Miss Seabright seated herself before the library 
table, and Mr. Lionel Hardcastle entered the library, accom- 
panied by old Mr. Hardcastle, Lis father, and a lawyer. 

Miss Seabright arose to receive them, invited them to be 
seated, and pointed to chairs, which they immediately drew to 
the library table, where they placed themselves. 

A half-hour was then occupied in the reading and trans- 
ferring of certain documents, of which the lawyer finally took 
charge. 

Then the gentlemen got up to take leave. Miss Seabright 
also arose, to dismiss them; but when she saw that Lionel 
Hardcastle was about to bow the others out with the purpose 
of remaining himself, she courteously advanced, and invited 
them all to remain and dine. A quick telegraphic look from 
Lionel Hardcastle to his father, arrested the old gentleman’s 
intention of accepting, so that, excusing himself, he took leave 
and withdrew, followed by the lawyer. JMiss Seabright also 
followed, with the intention of leaving the library, but Lionel 
Hardcastle intercepted her purpose by bowing the gentlemen 
out, and closing the door after them. Miss Seabright re- 
treated to the library table, where she stood erect, with one 
20 


318 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


hand resting upon the tahle^ and with her fiery ejes conceQ« 
trating all their rays into a burning focus in the gaze she fixed 
upon his face. Yet he winced not; but advancing calmly 
towards her, said, ‘‘That attitude and gaze, Miss Seabright, 
would remind me that my authority as your guardian ceases 
from this hour.^^ 

“ Without referring to that circumstance, Mr. Hardcastle, 1 
would only plead excessive weariness of this room, and to be 
excused for the remainder of the day.^’ 

“ You do not look in the least fatigued; and just now you 
even invited my father and your lawyer to remain and dine 
with you.’’ 

“ And extended the same invitation to yourself ; which I 
now repeat. Will you now accept it, and excuse me for an 
hour’s repose until dinner time ?” she asked calmly — calmly ; 
yet he could see by those dark eyes, which blazed and dark- 
ened under their heavy lids like a flashing and expiring flame, 
that under that quiet exterior, volcanic passion stirred, threat- 
ening every instant to break out in destroying fury, and only 
restrained by the force of her own will, and the power of her 
own moral sense. 

He folded his arms, and gazed on her ; his look was resolved^ 
his face was ashen pale, all the strength and fire of his nature 
seemed concentrated and burning in his eyes, and in the gaze 
he fixed upon her face. He answered, slowly, “No, Miss 
Seabright ; there is no repose for me, shall be none for you^ 
until you hear me. I will not leave this room, nor sufier you 
to leave it, until you hear me. Hitherto you have disregarded 
your benefactor’s expressed will and wishes, contemned my 
claims, despised my love.” 

“ Your ‘ love’ ? — is your& the language or the deportment 
of love she asked, in the deep, stern tone of suppressed in- 
dignation. 

His manner suddenly changed; and from insolent and 
threatening, became submissive and deprecating. He dashed 
his hands suddenly against his forehead, then threw himself 
at her feer, seized her hands and dropping his head upon 
them, almost wept, exclaiming, “ No, no. Garnet ! mine were 
not the words or acts of love, but of ‘ love to frenzy driven.’ 
I forswear them. Pardon me, pardon me. Garnet, I love 
you I I adore you I I worship you ! — not that you have beauty, 


THE FLIGHT OF TIME. 319 

grace, genius — all these I have seen in other women, with an 
undisturbed heart — but there is an unique power in your look, 
that draws me to you ; there is a fire in your soul and in your 
eyes that draws me to you as the sun attracts the earth. 
Daughter of the sun you are indeed, with all his reddest rays 
concentrated in your being, as in the burning gem, your fa- 
mily namesake. Garnet, oh. Garnet, I rave still, and more 
insanely than before. Garnet, restore peace, calmness, 
self-possession and reason to my soul ! Give your peerless 
self to me ! Be my salvation ! Speak to me ! Answer me I 
Say something, oh, dear Garnet 
^ Her lightning anger, quick to subside as to flash forth, had 
died away. As he held her hands, kissing them and almost 
weeping over them, she answered, in a low voice, Alas ! Mr. 
Hardcastle, what shall I say ? What can I say, that I have 
not said with pain before this ? I feel honoured by your es- 
teem ; I feel grateful for your love ; I feel humbled that I 
cannot return it. It is no disparagement to you — ^it is a mis- 
fortune, perhaps, to me — that I cannot do so. One cannot al- 
ways admire what may be admirable, or esteem what may be 
estimable, still less can they always love what is lovable. Yet 
I am disposed to entertain a profound friendship for you. My 
dear guardian, cease then to torment yourself and me farther 
with this question. I cannot marry,^^ she said, gently but 
firmly, as she sank into the chair behind her. 

Cannot marry \” he repeated, rising, and throwing himaelf 
upon a sofa near her, Cannot marry ! Have you then made 
a vow of celibacy ? Has your convent education imbued you 
with that notion V* 

^^No; Heaven forbid! I have formed no resolution of 
leading a single life. I should not be happy in such a destiny, 
should not even if I were already blessed with father and 
mother, sisters and brothers, cousins and friends — how could 
I possibly expect to be, standing perfectly alone as I d<^ 

“You could not, my Garn^t; you could not. And where, 
in these solitudes, could you find a man worthy of you ? Why, 
you are already twenty-one years of age, and have ne suitor 
but myself. You will yet bless me with your rich affections, 
wu must ! You are destined for me, and by all my hopes of 
Heaven, I will never give you up 

“ Stay— I will be frank with you, my guardian ; for I think 


820 


THE DISCARDED DAUaHTER. 


that harsh frankness is better than false hope. I will be frank 
with you, even to the charge of egotism. Listen, then. I 
shall not always live in these solitudes. I am not fitted for it. 
I am social, benevolent, energetic, venturesome. I have 
wealth, time, freedom, and some talent. I purpose to use 
their powers for my benefit, and for the benefit of others. I 
intend first to do what good I can here — then elsewhere. I 
shall leave this place, travel, make acquaintances and friends.’^ 
And still all this tends to leading a single life ; to becom- 
ing — oh. Miss Seabright, you will not become that monster of 
nature, a masculine woman — a — ” 

No ; sometime and somewhere, in the natural course of 
events, I shall meet with some noble, aspiring, elevated na- 
ture, such as that to which, in dreams, my whole being with 
all its strength and fire instinctively tends, and by a life- 
association with which, my nature shall become more noble, 
elevated, and aspiring ; and his greater wisdom and knowledge 
shall guide and direct me aright in the faithful stewardship of 
my wealth and power. 

Her face was radiant with enthusiasm and hope as she 
spoke. He turned deadly pale, and hissed between his teeth. 

You will then become an adventuress, and fall into the 
hands of some sharper.^ ^ 

Look at me, well. Am I a woman to fall a prey to a 
fortune-hunter? No; the man who marries me must already 
have ‘achieved’ such greatness, that he shall be great and 
good by the universal suffrages of society — must be loved, 
honoured, distinguished by the world. You have told me 
that I have beauty, genius, rich affections : if I have, I hold 
them all in sacred trust for just such a man.” 

“ I will remember your words ; and when you have fallen 
into the hands of some sharper, remind you of thenr. 
Dreamer 

“ If I do dream, such men as I dream of do, nevertheless, 
really live in this world. Not many of them, perhaps, but a 
few, and, out of the few, one who needs me. My guardian, 
I never take up a newspaper, but, besides the columns of 
casualties, and the report of crimes, and, amid all the sin 
and misery of the world of which it is a transcript, I still see, 
like stars shining out among the clouds, the saying and doings 


THE FLIGHT OF TIME. 


321 


of certain great and god-like men, who are now living and 
acting ; and my heart burns within me to meet such, and I 
feel and know, that when I enter society I shall meet such, 
and among them one who will seek me, one to whom all I 
am and have will not he more a gift than a deht.^^ 

Her look and tone were eloquent, impassioned, inspired for 
an instant, and then they sank, and she added seriously, in a 
low voice, 

'^My guardian, if I have unveiled to you the Holy of 
Holies in my heart, it is to show you that I have shrined a 
dream there, and you cannot enter. Yet I have a sisterly 
affection for you — not love ! There be many affections ; but 
only one love ! only one — marriage.^^ 

He had restrained himself as long as it was possible to do 
so. He now started from the sofa where he had reclined, 
watching her with pale cheeks and burning gaze, and starting 
towards her with clenched fist, he exclaimed, 

“Yes, haughty girl, you speak truth; there is but one 
marriage — -for you I You are compelled to marry me The 
world expects it of you. Is not the will of your benefkctor 
known? Are we not generally supposed to be betrothed? 
Did we not make the tour of Europe alone together f The 
world expects you to marry me. And you will for ever los« 
the respect of the world by failing to do so.^^ 

Her brow crimsoned, her eyes blazed, she arose to her feet 
and answered slowly, 

“And I will rather lose the respect of the world by 
rejecting you, than deserve to lose it by accepting you.’^ 

“ Fool ! Have you no regard for your reputation 
“Yes; but think it wrong to secure good reputation at the 
expense of good character 

“ What paradox, what nonsense is that 
“ Oh ! they are not synonymous terms, character and re- 
putation ; on earth they never have been, on earth they never 
will be. Often they are antagonistic words. Many of the 
heroes and martyrs of history, the demigods of our adoration, 
were men of the best characters, with — while they lived — ^the 
R^orst reputations.^^ 

“Then you have no respect for the good opinion of the 
world?’’ 


822 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


Yes ! my aspiring heart ! too mnchy I fear, for my souFa 
good ; and I know, I know by all the glorious gifts of Heaven 
to me, I know by all my mighty power for good or ill, by all 
my absolute unswerving loill to good, I know that I have a 
right and title. Heaven-patented, not to the passive good 
opinion, but to the honour, the co-operation of the world/' 

And I tell you, haughty woman, as you stand here a 
very goddess of Pride, I tell you as you stand here beneath 
these halls, where you should never have stood, invested with 
all this power, that you should never have possessed; armed 
with the might of vast wealth and of high talent, arrayed in 
the magic charms of young womanhood and perfect beauty. 
I tell you, that you are now — naught, that you will he, unless 
you marry me — a suspected, proscribed, banned, outcast 
woman !" He expected this to overwhelm her. But she 
turned her large, dark, solemn eyes, solemn now with pro- 
phetic inspiration, upon him, and inquired calmly, 
a Why?" 

Listen, girl : You are ambitious, arrogant, scornful. Yet 
a few words from me will subdue all that, by showing you, 
that you are obliged to marry me. Attend ! we made the 
tour of Europe alone together, putting up at the same hotels, 
having a common parlour, a common table, a common car- 
riage — " 

^^Well, sir! That is easily understood in guardian and 
ward." 

Not when the guardian is a man of thirty-seven, and the 
ward a girl of twenty ; not when 

‘ Both are young and one is beautiful,’ ” 

he added, sneeringly, Often, you know it, we were mistaken 
for a married pair — " 

And for brother and sister," she added, the blood mount- 
ing to her brow. 

Which we were not. Now attend ! All that familiarity 
may be understood in a guardian and ward, who are, besides^ 
known to be betrothed to each other, and who keep their 
tacit promise to society by marriage. Now listen 1 if you 
should not consent to marry me—" 


THE FLIGHT OF TIME. 828 

7/^ I do not ! I will not. There is no 

Then all your beauty, wealth and talent, with all tho 
power they give you, avail you nothing. You are an 
outcast 

She dropped into her chair again, she paled even to her 
lips, the fire died out of her eyes, and even from every lurid 
ring of her dark, bright hair. He gazed at her ironically, 
saying, slowly. 

Ah ! you do not care for the opinion of the world. 

Do I not ?” she exclaimed, with sudden and impassioned 
energy, do I not aspire to the honour of all the world ? Do 
I not know and feel by all that I am and have^ and by all 
that I purpose to do and to he, that I have a God-given patent 
to such honour? Has not my soul prophesied it?^^ 

^^And I repeat to you, haughty woman, that unless you 
marry we, you will not have it. Your powers are all para- 
lyzed” 

She dropped her hands upon her lap, her head upon her 
bosom, in the collapse of despair. 

Ha ! trapped, palsied, helpless \” he exclaimed, exultingly, 
where is now your vaunted independence ? your pride ? 
your scorn ? gone ! quite gone ! why, so much the better. 
You will make the better wife for the loss of that. Come, 
Garnet, I love you ; could worship your beauty, sometimes, 
only that it seems to spoil you ; come, I love you. Let us 
cease this absurd quarrel and be friends. Come, do not look 
so despairingly. Harsh and stern as I may be when threatened- 
with your loss, I shall not make such a bad husband. And 
for the rest — Bless me, girl, you know my family and my 
standing, — shall I be such a very ill match for General 
Garnet’s — ” 

He paused, and she raised her death-like brow, and wiping 
the cold drops of sweat from its pallid surface, said, slowly 
and with profound sadness, 

Oh-h-h ! You miserably misconceive my grief. It is th'S 
that overwhelms me, it is the thought of your — ” 

Villany ! Speak out, I will relieve you I” he said, sar- 
castically. 

I did not mean lo use the word.” 

I’olicy, then ! for it was no more nor less ; only finish.” 


324 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


It is this, then, that crushes me with sorra , t'ac Lf.of- 
ledge that you^ my only protector, who should have warned, 
my inexperience against the least social mistake, and shielded 
my good name from the slightest chance of injury, that you^ 
my guardian, having perfect authority over me, and indisputable 
control of all my actions ; that you^ my friend, having my 
perfect confidence and affection, that you should have abused 
that authority, betrayed that confidence, and wounded that 
affection by leading me into a course of conduct, pre-calculated, 
pre-contrived to fetter my choice in woman^s dearest privilege, 
or to blast my fair fame and palsy my powers of usefulness 
for ever/^ 

Rave on ! be abusive, scornful, insulting as y6u please 
But I tell you, arrogant woman, that he whom you abuse, in 
suit and scorn, will be your husband yet/' 

And I tell you, insolent man I" she exclaimed, starting to 
her feet with all the fire of her nature burning in her cheeks, 
and blazing in her eyes, tell you that, wronged, suspected, 
proscribed, outcast as I may be; and add to that poor, friend- 
less, ill, persecuted, desolate as I may be, I could not fall so 
low as to become the wife of the wretch you are. I repel your 
pretensions with scorn and loathing. Begone !" 

He gazed at her in speechless amazement. Was this incar- 
nate storm, his ward? the dignified, self-restraining, self- 
governing Miss Seabright? Yes, the violent passions of her 
nature, restrained for many years, had now burst the bonds of 
moral power. The volcanic tide of fire that had ebbed and 
flowed, and been repressed through all this scene, had now 
broken forth in appalling power. Her form was erect — and 
dilated her cheeks — her brow was crimson, her eyes blazed 
and darkened, and blazed and darkened, with terrific rapidity. 

Begone I" she thundered, ^^out of my sight, or by the 
Heaven that made me, 1 will summon my slaves and have 
you thrust forth with contumely from my gates !" Her hand 
was on the bell, her insane purpose was im’iubitable. , 

With a gesture of desperation he rashed from the room. 

She gazed after him until he had closed the door. She 
stood mentionless a long, long time, while the tide of fire 
eb})ed ; then sinking with tlie reaction of the exhaustion and 
self-reproach, she severed her face with her hands, murmuring 


THE F L ]. Q li T OF TIME. 


325 


VL ««rtirt-broken tones, God jpity me I God forgive me! 
W nat a nature is mine ! With a heart and bosom torn, tor- 
tui’ect, convulsed by storms of ferocious anger, scorn and 
priae, yet with a spirit brooding highly, calmly over all — a? 
above the clouds, and thunder, and lightning of the earth 
shint the holy stars of Heaven/' 


826 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


CHAPTEE, XLl. 

LIGHT ON THE ISLAND. 

Her wretched brain gave way, 

And she became a wreck at random driven, 

Without one glimpse of reason or of Heaven. 

Loni remained Miss ^eabright with her head bowed upon 
her hand in bitter thought. Twice a servant came and an- 
nounced dinner, without her seeing or hearing him. The third 
time, when he approached and spoke close to her ear, she raised 
her head languidly, and said. 

Ask Miss Joe to dine without me.^' 

And when Miss Joe herself came in with anxious inquiries 
about her health, and affectionate offers of tea and toast and 
jellies, she answered, with a bitter smile. 

Oh, be easy, dear friend ; a little fasting will not hurt my 
flesh and blood I” 

Day waned, and still she maintained her silent and thought- 
ful posture. Night came, and a servant entered with candles. 
The glare of light aroused her, and looking up, she saw the 
dark face of the man turned ashen gray with fear. ^^What 
is the matter, Caesar?^’ 

Light on de island, Miss; you kin see it plain as star 
ashinin V* 

Light on the island? Well, I will go and see myself. 
Where can this light be seen from 1” 

From de garret window. Miss, sure as you^re born.^' 

on before m<?,^^ she said, rising from her recumbent 


LIGHT ON THE ISLAND. 327 

posture, and following the man up the several flight of stairs 
to the attic. 

Arrived there, in the very front room where Elsie had been 
a prisoner, on the last night of her stay at Mount Calm, they 
paused. 

Miss Seabright advanced to the window, threw it up, and 
looked out at the clear, brilliant, starlight night. There was 
not a breath of wind stirring. The air was still and cold. 
The rolling hills and plains white with snow, and intersected 
only by the belt of forest around the foot of Mount Calm, 
reached silently on to the dark boundary of the sea. 

Why, I see no light at sea; none anywhere except the 
myriad light of stars in Heaven I” said Miss Seabright, letting 
down the window. 

Bress you soul, miss, no more you can’t, least wise you 
puts out de candle and looks t’rough the spy-glass \” 

Why, here’s a fellow ! who not having causes of trouble 
enough near him, must put out the light and take a telescope 
to find out distant ones ! Well, set the candle outside the 
door, and give me the glass.” And taking the telescope she 
went again to the window and hoisted it. Yes,” she said, 
after taking sight, “ yes, there is a light shining still and clear, 
and apparently fixed near the ruins of the old lodge !” 

Oh, it can be seen plain as possible from the village,” said 
Miss Joe, who now entered, followed by other members of the 
household. 

Miss Seabright closed the window, and turning to thjp. assem- 
bled group, said, with her singular smile. 

Well, now, this is really a very small affair for conjecture, 
and could interest none but a country family in the depth of 
winter. Let us go down stairs. It is probably some poor, 
lone soul, who, having no other shelter, has put together the 
ruins of the old lodge, and lives there and supports himself by 
fishing and shooting.” 

“Yes,” said Miss Joe, “that might be well enough, and 
nobody think nothing of it, only you see, honey, the folks 
from the village have been over on the island in the broad day 
time sarching, and they can’t find the leastest signs of human 
habitations ; the poor, dear old lodge is more tumble-down-der 
than ever, as in course it must naterally be every winter, with 

one to keep the dear, old crippled thing on its legs. Lord, 


828 


THE DISCAKDED DAUGHTER. 


cliild, the neighbours from Huttontown found all so dessolute 
that the very stars of heaven were shin down into the water 
collected in the cellar. No roof, no chimneys, no floors even j 
nothing but the lonesome, dessolute walls, and the stagnant 
collar. They didn’t find anybody, nor any sign of anybody, 
though they sarched all over the island — but, mind, that was 
at sunset, and that night about dark the light blazed up there 
as bright as ever \” 

“ Why did not the neighbours go and search then f’ 

They did. They got into the boats and rowed straight 
back, watching the ghostly light all the time, and just afore 
they landed, it was out.” 

“Did they carry a light in their boats?” 

“ Certain.” 

“ Then the great problem is solved. It was some fugitive 
slave, a refugee on the island, who, seeing the approach of 
the boats b^ the lights they carried, extinguished his light, 
and concealed himself.” 

“As if he could. Lor’, child, where could he hide away 
on that island ? All plain and bare, and bleak as it is ; no 
bit o’ woods, no hollow ; nothing but the outside walls o’ the 
old lodge, with its cellar fall o’ water, and the lonesome, bare 
trees standin’ far apart like ghosts.” 

“ True ; very true ; there is not a hiding-place possible on 
the island. But I cling to the thought of the fugitive refugee, 
who, seeing the invaders, probably extinguished his light, and 
took boat for the open sea’^ 

“ No, honey, that w’a’nt it. Bless you, they thought of 
that at once, and lit more pine knots, and separated, and run 
all around the coast of the little islet, and flashed their lights 
about, and couldn’t see of a boat on the waters.” 

“ Then I am at the end of conjecture. Come, let us go 
down. It is cold up here. Take up the candle, Caesar,” said 
Miss Seabright, turning from the room. 

“Yes, let’s go down; it is so cold up here. And supper’s 
ready in the little red parlour. Thais what I come to tell 
you, when these niggers all followed me. I told Milly, long 
as you hadn’t eat any dinner, and felt sort o’ low spirited, to 
get supper airly, and br’il a pair of pa’tridges. A cup o’ 
good, strong Young Hyson tea, with light biscuits and br’iled 


LIGHT ON THE ISLAND. 829 

partridges, is very good for lowness o^ spirits. 1 knqws it, 
^sause I’ve tried it myself.” 

They hurried through the bleak passages, and down stairs. 

Miss Seabright, preceded by the servant bearing the candle, 
and followed by the old lady, entered the parlour. The com- 
fortable little parlour, with its thick carpet, heavy curtains, 
soft sofa, bright fire, and elegant tea-table, was certainly a 
specific for mere low spirits. The old lady bustled past Gar- 
net, and set the urn upon the table, burning her fingers 
slightly, and rubbing them, while she exclaimed cheerily. 
There now; sit down. As there’s no one here but you 
and me, you know, you can draw the end of the sofy to the 
table and loll on that, while I pour out your tea and butter 
you a biscuit. Caesar, you cut up that pa’tridge for your 
young mist’ ess — not that one, you stupid creetur ! toother one, 
it’s the plumpest. Now you see, honey, the maids have got 
through their day’s work, for a wonder, and I have got time 
to stay in the parlour and enjoy myself ’long o’ you. And so 
we’ll have a jolly good evening; you can loll on the sofa and 
enjoy yourself with your low-spirits and cologne bottle — only 
don’t waste it — and I can sit here and patch my old gown, 
and talk about old times.” 

Garnet looked at the good-natured face of the old lady, and 
felt compunction for the answer she was about to make — 

I am sorry to spoil the plan of your evening’s entertain- 
ment, Miss Joe, but I am going to explore Hutton’s Island 
to-night.” 

Going to explore Hutton’s Island to-night !” exclaimed 
Miss Joe, dropping knife and fork, and staring at her. 

^^Yes.” 

^^Your 

The Lord have mercy upon her ! I’ve been havin’ of my 
misgivins all this time, but now I knoio she’s a little deranged !” 
said Miss Joe, to herself. Then speaking aloud, in something 
of the tone one would take in addressing a sick and delirious 
child, “No, no, honey, don’t think of it! You’re sick, you 
know, and it is cold and dark and dangerous. Then, it isn’t 
proper for a young lady to do such a thing, anyhow !” 

Miss Seabright smiled a queer smile, as she replied, 

“ For the first objections, my good old friend, cowardice is 
not one of my weaknesses ; for the last — ” she paused and 


380 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


her smile deepened in meaning — ^‘1 made a start in life by 
quite innocently perpetrating a heinous, a fatal — crime ? no. 
impropriety ! I broke no law of God or man ; yet I am told 
that for that I shall be banished from society, ^mless I do com- 
mit a sin, in open day, in the face of society ; who will then 
forgive meT^ 

“ Mad ! mad said Miss Joe, to herself, gazing at the 
ironical girl. 

Well ! 

‘ Wliat’s banished bu* vCt free ?’ 

I will do whatever I please — conventional or unconventional ! 
I will break no law of God’s or man’s, and after that is said, 
all is said for me. For the rest, I will do whatever my spirit 
impels me to do, whether the world likes it or not !” said 
Garnet, speaking more to herself than to another, and rising 
and ringing the bell. 

Mad ! mad ! mad ! and getting worse every minute,*’ said 
Miss Joe, hurrying out, and hastening into the front hall, 
where Caesar was lighting the lamp. 

Caesar, come here to me, quick — close. Hush ! don’t say 
anything. Go as hard as you can to Hemlock Hollow, and 
tell Mr. Lionel Hardcastle how he must come as fast as possi- 
ble here; how he’s wanted badly, very badly. Hurry — mount 
a fast horse, and go as quick as ever you can !” 

The man, with his eyes staring wide, ran to obey. Miss 
Joe then returned to the parlour, where she found Garnet 
giving directions to a servant to have two horses saddled, and 
prepare himself to attend her down to the shore. Miss Sea- 
bright was giving her orders with so much calmness and pre- 
cision, that the old lady thought she had a lucid interval in 
her madness, and that this afforded her an excellent oppor- 
tunity for argument ; so, as soon as the man retired, she said, 
coaxingly, 

My dear child, think of it !” 

^‘1 do, Miss Joe; and the more I think of it the more I 
want to go. I am determined to vary the tedious monotony 
of my days with a little adventure !” 

My dear child, you have heard of the fate of Agnes ! 
How she was either murdered, or carried off from that island 
bv inknown ruffians !” 


LIGHT ON THE ISLAND. 331 

I heard long ago of her mysterious disappearance, Miss 
Joe, and I always thought, and think now, that in her deep 
despair for the sudden loss of her husband, she drowned her- 
self. I think so the more, that never before or since that 
strange occurrence, has any outrage been attempted on the 
island. Think of the years we lived there alone with nothing 
to disturb our quiet. Why, often in the fond superstition of 
my childhood, when I have waked up in the night, have I 
risen and gone out into the starlight, and rambled all over the 
isle, in the hope of surprising the fairies at their midnight 
revels ! W ell, if I never found them, I never found anything 
worse. No, Miss Joe, there is no danger. If there were, I 
do not know the fear of it. That solitary light on the isle 
belongs to some solitary wretch, poorer and more friendless 
even than we were ; one whose misfortunes or crimes make 
him dread and shun the approach of his fellow men; one 
whom I do not fear to seek ; one whom, if I find, I shall try 
to relieve. And I will tell you, if that will ease your kind 
anxiety upon my account, I will direct Pompey to take a pair 
of pistols.” 

As she finished speaking, a servant appeared at the door, 
and announced that the horses were ready. 

She left the parlour, and soon returned prepared for her 
ride, and immediately set out. 

Miss Joe fidgeted up and down the hall in great disturb- 
ance of mind. In about ten minutes after Miss Seabright had 
left the house, the quick trampling of horses announced the 
arrival of Lionel Hardcastle. He hurried into the house, 
booted and spurred as he was, and asked, rapidly. 

Where is Miss Seabright ? Has she sent for me 

‘^No, sir; no. It was me that sent for you. Come here — 
here in the parlour, sir. I have got something terrible to tell 
you. Shut the door.” 

He followed her into the parlour, closing the door as re- 
quested, and stared with astonishment at the old lady^s excited 
countenance, while, with rapid enunciation, she related all 
that had happened just before, and since his visit in the fore- 
noon. Miss Seabright^s excited manner when talking about 
a mere old smoky picture,” her extravagant tale about giv- 
ing so many hundred dollars for the ugly dingy thing,” her 
profound mourning all the afternoon, refusing to eat, drink 


.^32 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


or talk ; and then her mad resolution of going that night to 
Hutton^s Island to find out about the light, and above all, her 
real crazy*^ talking about committing a sin before the world 
in order ^‘to keep in long o’ the world.” Mr. Hardcastle 
listened with a sarcastic smile until he heard of her night ex- 
pedition ; then his sinister face lighted up with demoniac joy, 
to conceal which he quickly averted his head. 

Ha ! with only one attendant, say you ?” 

With no one, sir, but Pomp — sure as you’re born.” 

I must instantly go after her then.” 

Oh, do, sir ! do hurry !” said Miss Joe, and in five minutes 
more Lionel Hardcastle, with the dark and lowering brow of 
a fiend hidden by the night, was galloping swiftly towards the 
coast, muttering in his heart, ^^Now, scornful girl, shall my 
love and vengeance both be sated !” 

In the mean time. Garnet had reached the shore at which 
the Mount Calm fleet of boats were chained — boats of all 
sizes, from the long skiff to the twelve-oared canoe, and the 
sail-boat. She entered the smallest of the skiffs, followed by 
Pompey, who immediately unlocked the chain, took the single 
oar, and pushed off from the sandy beach. The bay was per- 
fectly smooth, and reflected the dark, resplendent sky, with 
its myriads beyond myriads of shining lights so distinctly, that 
the little skiff seemed to glide among the stars as it sped over 
the waters. Soon before them lay Hutton’s Island, like a 
darker line upon the sea. And there, like a single star, shone 
the solitary light ! Yet so much deeper was Garnet’s love of 
nature than of adventure, that she delivered herself up to in- 
tense enjoyment of the starlight night on the waters, forgetful 
of her errand, until the slight shock of the skiff, touching upon 
the strand of the island, aroused her from her trance. Then, 
when she looked up, the light on the isle was gone. 

That is very provoking ! Now who would have thought 
that darkly and silently as we came, we should have been per- 
ceived ? However, light your pine knot, Pompey, and come 
along.” 

Pompey had been selected as her attendant in this expedi- 
tion, by Miss Seabright, as being the least superstitious and 
30 wardly of all her men, yet now the namesake of The In- 
vincible” shrank back in dread, muttering. 

Indeed, indeed, miss, you’d better not!” 


LIGHT ON THE ISLAND. 


833 


Poinpey ! whoever the dweller on this isle is, it is some 
poor wretch, more Worthy of our pity than of our fear; weak 
and timid, since it watches and hides from even such harm- 
less visiters as we. Come along I” 

^Deed — ^’deed, miss, that ainH good reasoning ! 'Deed, 
'fore my Hebhenly Marster, ain't, miss. 'Deed — ^'deed — 
'deed — ^'deed — " muttered Pompey, his teeth chattering, until 
he lost his voice. 

‘^Give me the torch then, Pompey; I will go before. You 
may follow me as distantly as you please, and run at the first 
alarm !" 

“I think that would be de mos’ safes', miss; caze dey 
wouldn't be so apt to shoot a young lady, miss, as dey would 
to shoot a coloured gemman ob my siteration in deciety." 

Without hearing Pompey' s compromise with his cowardice 
and his conscience. Miss Seabright, torch in hand, walked up 
the gradually ascending rise of ground to the ruins of the old 
lodge. From being so long out in the night, her eyes had 
become accustomed to it, so that now, under the brilliant star- 
light, the scene was distinctly, though darkly, before her — the 
ruin, the isle, and the sea. No sign of fence or out-house 
could be seen as she approached the ruined lodge, whose skele- 
ton walls stood up square around what seemed a deep, stag- 
nant pond, whose stillness was drearily broken by the plunge 
of some toad, snake, or other loathsome reptile. Blinded or 
scared by the glare of the torch, bats flitted to and fro about 
the ruined walls, water rats ran in and out among the broken 
stones, and plunged into the stagnant waters, and lastly, a huge 
screech-owl took flight from the blasted tree by the fallen chim- 
ney, making night hideous" with his yells. Profoundly sad- 
dened by seeing the beloved home of her wild childhood so 
desolate, Garnet turned silently away, and passing mournfully 
over the bleak ground, reached the strand. Then passing 
slowly all around the beach, she looked out upon the waters 
in search of any stray boat that might contain the supposed 
fugitive of the isle. As far as the eye could reach, no sign of 
a boat could be seen. She then turned inland — if the tiny 
isle could be said to have an inland — and searched carefully 
about, walking around every spectre-like tree standing far apart 
on the bare, bleak island, and quite incapable after all of con- 
cealing the smallest possible fugitive in the human shape. Bui 
21 


834 


THE DISCARDED DADGHTBR. 


she looked around and up into them, as I have seen men look 
under candlesticks, and into tiny drawers for their missing 
hats, umbrellas, and boot-jacks ! After her thorough search 
was quite over, she turned to her attendant, and said. 

Well, I am disappointed. There is positively no one here, 
and the mystery of the island light is still unsolved.^^ 

Her attendant did not answer. Thinking that he was still 
under the influence of fear, she said. 

Why, Pompey, we are as safe and as quiet here as I was 
when I lived here with Aunt Joe and Hugh.^^ 

Still her follower did not speak, hut rather lingered behind 
her, and she herself relapsed into silence, and fell into a revery, 
until she arrived at the farthest extremity of the isle, opposite 
to that on which she had landed. This was the north-western 
point of the island, and the same beach upon which she and 
the so^e companion of her childhood, Hugh, used to pick 
maninosies. Here, as she walked about watching the starlit 
waves break gently on the beach, noting the numerous per- 
forations, where the maninosies had buried themselves in the 
sand, the tide of memory rolled back, overwhelming the appre- 
hension of the present. She saw herself a tiny, sprite-like 
child, stealing out on starlight nights, and sitting on the pile 
of rocks, on this very spot, watching in fond faith for the 
swimming of the nereids, and mistaking the reflection of some 
purple cloud, high up in the heavens, for the royal robe of 
Amphytrite in the deep, deep sea.^^ She saw herself again 
in the day-time, when the setting sun, like Macbeth’s blood- 
crimsoned hand, would 

“The multitudinous seas incarnadine, 

Making the green one red!” 

she saw herself well shod atid warmly clothed, and Hugh, the 
manly boy, barefooted, bareheaded, and coarsely clad, yet 
grandly handsome ^‘as Hercules ere his first labour !” Hugh, 
with his noble look and noble nature ; and she smiled to think 
of the high faith, and hope, and love, that irradiated his fine 
countenance, as he confidently promised to make a fortune for 
hevy his sister ; to get wealth, rank, honour for her ! And the 
tears rolled down Garnet’s cheeks, as she thought of the glo- 
rious boy, and thought how many, many years it had been 
since she had even inquired his residence or his destiny. 


LIGHT ON THE ISLAND. 


335 


“ He thought/' she said, speaking to herself, in a low, self- 
communing voice, he thought to have made a fortune before 
me — to have conferred wealth, rank, honour upon me! The 
case might be reversed — it might! oh! I wish it could! 
There is only one way in which it could, and that is not im- 
possible, though remote. This ^ dream! that I have enshrined 
within my heart — this ideal of goodness and greatness with 
which only I will unite — thh I owe to Hugh. And oh 1 if he 
has fulfilled in his manhood the glorious promise of his boy- 
hood, whatever his external fate may be, if he has fulfilled in 
h^self^ the promise of matured goodness and greatness — 

What then f” said a deep voice at her elbow. 

She started slightly and exclaimed, 

My guardian \” 

^^Yes, Miss Seabright, your guardian; who never found 
you more in need of his guardianship than at present." 

Sir I why have you followed me here ? — whei*e is my 
servant 

Having come upon him, cowering, several yards behind 
you, I took the liberty of sending him back to the mainland, 
by the boat in which you came !" 

G-arnet's eyes began to blaze and darken with fearful 
rapidity. Yet repressing the mounting fire of anger, she 
strove to ask, calmly. 

And why did you ^ take the liberty' of sending my ser- 
vant away, sir? And why have you further presumed to 
break upon my privacy ?" 

One question at a time, if you please. Miss Seabright. I 
sent your servant away that I might have the pleasure of a 
private interview. I break upon your solitude for the fur- 
therance of the same purpose." 

And your object, sir ?" 

To come to a full and final reckoning with you I" he said, 
his manner suddenly becoming threatening. 

Garnet pressed both hands upon her bosom, to restrain its 
violent throbbings, and answered slowly, 

I thought, sir, that our last interview, of only this morn- 
ing, had finally settled all between us? Upon that occasion 
I told you some harsh truths — and with some violence, which 
regret ; feeling sorry that the honest verdict of my head 


836 THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 

% 

and heart should not have been delivered with more tem- 
perance/' 

^^And which you shall more deeply regret before we part, 
scornful girl." 

Her eyes blazed wide and full, like sudden meteors, and 
then fell into darkness, as she replied, with constrained calm- 
ness, 

I pray you, sir, do not provoke me. I am subject to 
inger, as other people are to ague and fever." 

Ha, ha, ha ! Is that meant for an appeal or for a threat ? 

If for an appeal, I am not subject to magnanimity, as other 
people are to insanity ! — if for a threat, how ridiculous ! Be 
angry — furious — violent! What can you do now^ Why, 
thou foolish girl, thou art completely in my power." 

‘‘ In 1/our power ! Not so, insolent creature, ^ whom it were 
base flattery to call a man there are no circumstances what- 
ever, that could put me in your power." 

Why, you absurd woman I look around you. Deep and 
silent night hangs over the world. You stand alone with me 
upon a barren, uninhabited, sea-girt isle. How far off do you 
suppose the nearest human being is from us ? How loud a 
shriek from this lone spot could raise the distant sleepers of 
the mainland from their beds ?" 

Garnet raised her proud head to give some indignant an- 
swer, but meeting the gaze af her companion, the burning, 
scathing anger of her reply froze in horror ere it passed her 
lips : — ^for never did night lower over a countenance darker, 
more dreadful with demoniacal malignity of purpose. Garnet 
turned her eyes from the baleful glare of Hardcastle to throw 
them over the lone and desert isle on which they stood, and 
for the first time a sense of the appalling danger of her situ- 
ation swam in upon her brain, and, for a moment, nearly 
overwhelmed her. His countenance lighted up with a fiendish 
triumph. He continued : 

‘‘Yes, Miss Seabright. Yes, Garnet. You have read my j 
look and purpose aright. This night must you and I come to ! 
a reckoning. This hour^ haughty girl, shall your pride be 
humbled. To-day you reject my hand with scorn. To-mor- ! 
row shall you sue for it as for life. Ha I already my triumph | 
begins. You grow pale, lady." ! 

“ No ! — pale ? If my cheek did so belie my soul as to , 


LIGHT ON THE ISLAND. 337 

grow pale before a wretch like jpu, hij my soul, I would paint 
it black for the rest of my life, and sell myself to base servi- 
tude as being too low for any other sphere. Oh, sir! the 
sudden revelation of your enormous wickedness shocked me 
for a single instant, as if I had unexpectedly been confronted 
■with the foul fiend ! — that was all ! And now I tell you that 
even on this lone sea isle I do not feel myself to be in your 
power. I am not the least afraid of you ! — afraid of you? 
I am afraid of nothing. I do not know the word. I never 
did know it ; and it is not likely that you can teach it to 
me.^^ 

By Heaven, she defies me even here V’ exclaimed Hard- 
castle, pale with rage, and striding towards her. 

Yes,^^ said Grarnet, recoiling a step or two, and standing 
upon the fragment of rock where she had so often sat in 
childhood; ^‘yes,^^ she said, reverently raising her eyes and 
hand, ^^by Heaven j I do defy you! Under the protection of 
Heaven, in the name of Heaven, I do defy you 1’^ 

Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! Thou fool! Why, what shall hin- 
der me now from refuting you and taking my revenge V* he 
said, again striding towards her. 

Off ! A parley, I say ! Listen to me a moment. God 1 
myself ! your^eli shall hinder you. Mr. Hardcastle, I have 
this hour conquered a greater and stronger adversary than 
yourself — even mine own spirit! I have overcome my anger; 
I have the lion of my temper chained beneath my feet. And 
now, to put you down will be a much lighter task — much 
easier victory. And I tell you now, in coolness, what I told 
you before in heat, that I am not afraid of you. Nor shall 
you falsely take the tone towards me of one who has the ad- 
vantage. I know you, Mr. Hardcastle. And I know your 
present evil scheme by your former revealed treachery. Hea- 
ven purify my soul from the sin of the knowledge ! I know 
that now you think you have me at your mercy, and you in- 
tend to terrify me into making conditions with you.^^ 

*^In the fiend’s name, young woman, what do you mean?’^ 
^‘This, to be explicit; You think to frighten me. Garnet 
Seabright, into the promise to become your wife, and endow 
you with the broad lands of Mount Calm, upon condition of 
your sparing me, showing mercy to me, and taking me safely 
home ta Mount Calm.’’ 


838 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


By all tlie demons, girl ! I wonder that you should dar^ 
to give breath to that fear I” 

“ Not fear 

To that suspicion, then. I am amazed that you should 
venture to place these conditions before me.'^^ 

That I should detect and pluck the villanous scheme 
from your heart, and hold it up before you. Well, I will go 
further in my defiance of you, Mr. Hardcastle, and tell you 
that, threaten what you may, I will never, under any circum- 
stances, promise to be your wife. Now, you see that I know 
I am not at your mercy.^^ 

By Satan, Miss Seabright, I am thunderstruck at your 
audacity ! Grirl, you would be but a sparrow in my grasp ! j 
Who could rescue you V* 

1 thank you for the word you used in illustration of my 
weakness. It recalls in good time the words of a favourite 
old volume of mine — a book, perchance, with which you have 
not chanced to meet. Listen ! ^ Are not two sparrows sold 

for a farthing? Yerily, I say unto you, not one of these shall 
fall to the ground without your Father. Are ye not of more I 

value than many sparrows V Heaven pardon me ! I should j 

not have quoted Scripture here, Mr. Hardcastle. Neverthe- j 

less, it helps to make me fearless now. Sir, I will tell you | 

once for all, WHY I do not fear you. First, because I trust j 
in Grod. Next, because I trust in myself. Finally, because I | 
can something trust in ^ou ! Cut off as we now are from all ! 
communion with our fellow-creatures, — alone, defenceless, un- : 
protected, and at your mercy as I seem — ^ou dare not harm | 

me, and I know and feel it! You are not mad or intoxi- 
cated ; therefore, you will not. You are not of a passionate, i 
impetuous nature, therefore you will not. You are a cold- 
blooded, clear-headed, calculating, forecasting schemer — there- 
fore you will not dare to do me an injury that will end in ruin 
to yourself. You are a gentleman by birth, education, and 
position. You are a gentleman — however undeserving of the 
name — and you will not exchange the title for that of — felon ! 

I am under the protection of God and of the laws ! Lay but 
your hand in insult on me, and by the Heaven that watches 
over us, as soon as I reach the mainland, cost what it may to 
my woman’s heart, for the sake of sacred right will I denounce 
you! Murder me! — sink my body in the sea! — the crime ' 


LIGHT ON THE ISLAND. 339 

would still De traced to yourself. We were known to have 
oeen left here alone.^^ 

^‘Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! We were known 
to he left here alone together ! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha ! By none 
but the negro, and a negro’s evidence is not received in any 
court of law ! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha !” he laughed, in fiendish 
triumph. I have allowed you to spring from my hands, and 
I have listened to your talking, only to make game of yort. 
Only as a cat lets a mouse run before finally seizing it. But 
this has lasted long enough !” he exclaimed, ferociously 
springing towards her, seizing and hurling her from the rock. 

Summoning all her great strength, the intrepid girl, with a 
mighty effort, threw him from her, and before he could spring 
upon his prey again, the fragment of rock near them rolled 
down the slope to the beach — a sudden light glared upon thb 
scene, and a tall woman, wildly clad, and waving a torch above 
her head, emerged, and stood before them. The sudden 
irruption of this human being from the bosom of the earth 
did not astonish Garnet as did the look of Lionel Hardcastle. 
Struck pale as death, and statue-still, but for the universal 
tremor that shook his frame, he stood and gazed with stony 
eyes and chattering teeth upon the apparition. At last — 
Agnes !” he gasped, shaking as with an ague fit. 

Yes, pirate ! — Agnes !” said the woman, approaching Him 
slowly, holding the torch above her head; then stooping, fixing 
her eyes intently upon him, and thus creeping towards him, 
as a lioness preparing for a couch and spring. She paused 
before him, and still glaring on his face, said, very slowly — ■ 

So, pirate ! we meet again, at last! We meet upon the spot 
of that outrage which first separated me from home and coun- 
try, friends and kindred, holiness and Heaven! We meet 
upon this spot that you would again desecrate with crime ! 
We meet in an hour of retribution! For this have I lived ! 
For now that at last I see my mortal foe, never will I lose 
sight of you again, until I have put you in the hands of 
justice ! Never will I cease to pursue you, until I hunt you 
to the scaffold ! Never can I die, until I see you dead before 
me by the death of a felon !” 

While she spoke, with such slow tones of settled hatred and 
determined vengeance, he held his hand in his bosom. Am 
she ceased speaking — 


340 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


False prophetess ! you die now he thundered, 
levelling the pistol he held at her head. 

She sprang forward, seized his arm, turning the weapon 
aside. They struggled violently for a moment, and then the 
pistol was discharged, and Lionel Hardcastle fell, shot through 
the chest. 

Frozen with horror, G-arnet Seahright drew near, and 
stooped over the fallen man. Agnes also bent over her pros- 
trate foe a moment, then turning to Glarnet, and throwing her 
wild hair back, she said, 

I did not kill him, madam; though if I had Hwould have 
been but just.^^ 

The eyes of the dying man flared open once, and flxed upon 
the face of G-arnet. Raising himself upon his elbow, he said, 
in low and broken tones, 

“ Forgive me, G-arnet- — and — ^believe this I- -whatever were 
the hidden sins of my youth — neither piracy nor bloodshed 
was among them ! I was a— prisoner among them ! Ship- 
wreck — plank — waves — picked up — oh, G-od, forgive me V ' 
His head fell back — ^he rolled over in a mortal struggle, and 
then grew still in death. 


THE 


BEEHIVE. 


841 


CHAPTER XLIL 

THE BEEHIVE. 

A cottage where domestic love 

And truth breathe simple kindness to the heart, 

Where white-armed children twine the neck of age, 

Where hospitable cares light up the hearth. 

Cheering the lonely traveller on his way. — Gilman. 

•^The Beehive” was the name that had been given hj Elsie 
to her first back-woods home, and afterwards transferred by her 
to che substantial home of hewn rock that had replaced the 
log cabin. 

li is late in the afternoon of a blustering March day that I 
shall again introduce you into the household of Doctor Hard- 
castlo. And it is a large and interesting family for which the 
doctoi is now responsible. 

First, there is himself, as glorious a type of manhood as 
ever stood in the exposed outer circle of existence, interposing 
his own body between the storms and cares of life, and the 
cowering forms of women and children. 

Then, there was his pupil, Hugh Hutton — 

“As tall, as sinewy, and as strong 
As earth’s first kings — the Argo’s gallant sailors; 

Heroes in history, and gods in song,” 

and bearing, in that genial dignity of form, countenance, and 
manner which was the natural expression of great conscious 
power and goodness, a general resemblance to his master. 


342 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


There was Mrs. Garnet, in her simple widow^s dress I 
black silk, with surplice bosom, inside handkerchief, and lirr/e 
lace cap — somewhat jaded, yet with her graceful form, rair 
complexion, delicate features, and pensive thoughtfulness of 
expression, presenting a pleasing image of the ‘‘ intellectual 
system of beauty.’^ In charming contrast to her was her 
daughter, Mrs. Hardcastle, in the full bloom of perfectly de- 
veloped vital beauty, revealing that marriage and maiernity 
had been to her healthful, sanguine, and joyous organization, 
what they should be to all women, a continuous accession of 
new life, health, and happiness. 

She had made no mistake in the calculation of her future. 
Active, bustling, often very laoorious her lot had been indeed, 
but suited to her strong and cheerful nature. Her life had 
been guided, besides, by almost unerring intelligence, sustained 
by undying love, and cheered by unfailing hope. Anxieties 
had come, indeed, but these had not been suffered to grow into 
corroding cares. Sorrow had visited them, too, but this had 
not been permitted to crush them with despair, or even bow 
them long in despondency. In the second year of their mar- 
ried life, the Angel of Death had entered their dwelling and 
lifted their only child from its mother’s bosom. Yes, the 
firstling of their little flock — the flrst-born of their youthful 
love, that strong and beautiful child, so full of glorious promise, 
whose health and life seemed so secure, who was, besides, so 
watched and tended — that idolized child was born away from 
their arms, and the hearts of the parents long writhed in the 
anguish of bereavement before they could understand and re- 
ceive the Divine message in the infant’s little life and death. 
They had been so independent, so conflding, so happy in their 
earthly lot, so absorbed in their worldly plans, that they might 
never even have lifted their eyes to Heaven but for gazing after 
the soaring wing of their cherub ; might never have lifted 
their hearts to Heaven, but for yearning after the ascended and 
glorified child ; for where the treasure is, there will the heart 
be also.’' 

They had now been married eleven years, and six other 
children claimed their love and care ) six children — boys and 
girls — with their ages ranging from one year old to nine. They 
were not rich. They owned the homestead, farm, and im- 
provemerts upon the latter, but beyond this they did not pos- 


THE BEEHIVE. 


S43 

less a thousand dollars. Doctor Hardcastle^s practice was 
very extensive, and very profitable to— his patients; not very 
enriching to himself. With a large and growing family, with 
a strong and sympathetic nature, generous heart, and open 
hand and purse, how could Magnus Hardcastle grow rich ? In- 
deed he must have been much poorer than he was, but for the 
I sfl&cient aid of his woman-kind.’^ 

^ Mrs. G-arnet had gradually assumed herself the responsi- 
bility of the needle-work of the family. 

Elsie did all the housework. 

Hugh Hutton constituted himself hewer of wood and drawer 
of water, stock-driver and feeder, gardener, assistant nurse 
ind tutor, doctor’s boy, big brother, and helper-in-general to 
the establishment. 

And he found time, besides, for the systematic and assidu- 
ous study of medicine, so that within the last year he had 
been dubbed by the neighbours the young doctor of the pro- 
fessional firm. 

For the last two years, Hugh had spent the winters in an 
Eastern city, attending lectures at the Medical College. Upon 
these occasions, he usually left home upon the first of Decem- 
ber, and returned upon the first of March. This was the last 
winter of his purposed migrations East, and his friends at 
home were expecting his return with unusual impatience. The 
first of March had come, however, and he had not yet arrived 
A letter from him had informed his friends that he remained 
in the city, for the purpose of presenting himself before the 
medical board of examination as a candidate for a diploma. 

The family were now in daily expectation either of his 
arrival or of another letter. It was upon the evening of the 
seventh of March, then, that the commodious family-room of 
the house was occupied by Mrs. Garnet and six children of 
Elsie’s. This room was well-warmed and lighted by a large 
fire of pine logs in the chimney, and a couple of lighted can- 
dles upon the mantel-piece. The supper table was set, and 
supper was ready to be served as soon as the doctor should get 
in from his rounds. It had not long to wait; for soon Doctor 
Hardcastle was seen to ride into the yard, dismount, and take 
off his saddle-bags and booted spurs, and, great coated as he 
was, came into the house. As soon as he set foot within the 
room, the chl'dren swarmed upon him like bees upon a sun- 


344 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


flower stalk, or the Lilliputians upon Grullivor ; and he lifted 
and kissed them one by one, but looking around impatiently 
the while for one he loved even more than all these little one?k 
— to wit, the mother. At last — 

Where is Elsie, Mrs. G-arnet he asked. 

Gone, again ; I do wish, Magnus, you would prevent her. 
She makes herself a slave to these poor neighbours of hers. 
I do really think that she has family cares and toils enough ; 
and that when she has performed her household duties as well 
as she always does, she might consider herself discharged from 
other social obligations. I do wish you would talk to her very 
seriously about it. Now to-day she has had a very fatiguing 
time indeed ; she was ironing all the forenoon, and this after- 
noon baking. And yet, this evening, as soon as she had got 
supper and set the table, she placed the children all in my care, 
and against my advice, high as the wind is, and deep as the 
snow is drifted, she took a basket and filled it with provisions, 
and started to carry it to those poor Millers on the mountain. 
Indeed, I wish, Magnus, you would tell her not to do it.'' 

Me tell Elsie to do or not to do ! Whew ! Do you know, 
my dear lady-mother, what is the highest, the very highest 
boon of Grod to man ? Free will — the blessed liberty of 
going even to the old Nick if they please. There are those so 
fond of ^ freedom,' that they would prefer going to perdition by 
the exercise of their free will, to being arbitrarily predestined 
to Heaven !" 

Perhaps so ; but Elsie is not one of those. Dr. Hardcas- 
tle. If you were but to hint to your wife that you disapprove 
and dislike her thus exposing herself, she would stop it at once ; 
she would think it her duty to do so." 

“1 know it; and therefore I have to be more chary in med- 
dling with her docile spirit than if she had the self-will and 
temper of Xantippe. But, ah ! do you think it does not make 
my heart ache to see her expose herself to wind and snow, and 
to think that I have not yet provided a carriage for her, and to 
see her work from early morning till night, doing all the house- 
work of the family, and think that I have not yet got a servant 
for her ? And now having brought her to all this, shall I fet- 
ter her will ? no, by my soul !" said Doctor Ilardcastle, with 
strong emotion. 


THS BEEHIVE. 


345 

Mrs. G-arnet arose and went to bis side, and stood there, 
and drew his arm over her shoulder, caressingly, as she said, 

Magnus, you have made Elsie completely, divinely happy ; 
j. mean, as a mortal woman can he! No man could do more 
for his wife, very few can do so much. As for her privation? 
and toils, it is /, only I, whose weakness caused all that ! It 
was I who disinherited her ! I \” 

‘‘ Hush ! hush ! a truce to self-criminations ! Elsie is the 
only consistent, rational, equable one in the family, now Hugh 
is gone. And here she comes, the darling ! and without her 
cloak, as I live ! Come, Mrs. Garnet, we will hoili scold het- 
for that. Let’s open upon her as soon as she gets in.” 

He kissed Alice’s hand, and hastened to meet his wife. 

Here she came, cold as the weather was, actually without ~ 
her cloak. 

He opened the door quickly, and received her in his arms, 
pressing her cold hands under his chin, to his bosom, to warm 
them, and drawing her on towards the fire. 

^‘Now where have you been, facing the wind, and plunging 
through the snow-drifts 

“ I have been on the mountain,” said Elsie, untying her 
bonnet, and giving it to one child, and throwing her shawl upon 
the arms of another. I have been on the mountain to see 
those poor Millers. Their little girl, almost barefooted, came 
over here this afternoon for me to go to her mother, who is 
confined. I knev/ they were suffering, and so I filled the bas- 
ket and went home with the little one.” 

But your cloak, dear ! What in the world have you done 
with your cloak ?” 

Oh ! I laid it over Susan Miller and her babe, until 1 
could come home, and send them a blanket. Oh, now don’t 
look so shocked ! I am warmly clothed without the cloak ; 
besides, the distance was short, and I ran along fast. Non- 
sense, now I How is it that children arc half their time outrun- 
ning and romping in the cold, without being wrapped up, and 
only grow more robust by the exposure?” said Elsie, laughing, 
as she arose, pushed her curls back from her blooming face, 
and went and lifted her crowing babe from the cradle. 

Then she sat down and nursed it, while Mrs. Garnet, as 
sisted by the eldest child, a little girl of nine years old, begar 
to arrange the supper upon the table. 


346 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


As Elsie sat and nursed the child, her blooming, joyous 
face softened into sadness, tears gathered in her eyes, and she 
sighed deeply, bowing her head over the babe. Magnus was 
watching her. He was accustomed to her occasional moods 
of sorrowful tenderness, which, he said, compared with her 
usual, bright, cheerful temper, as a general, steaming thaw 
contrasts with a fine, clear, frosty morning. He stooped over 
the back of her chair, and bending his head close to hers, 
asked, 

Of what are you thinking so sadly, Elsie T’ 

A slight flush warmed her cheek, and she replied, meekly, 
without raising her head, 

An unworthy thought, dearest ; at least, ungrateful and 
presumptuous. I was thinking of that poor family, of the 
little good that I was able to do them, and the great pleasure 
it gave me to do even that. I will confess to you all the ego- 
tism of my thought — then I thought how generous I really was 
by nature, and how I should delight in doing a great deal of 
good, if I had the means ; and then an emotion of discontent, 
and a disposition to murmur, came upon me, and I thought 
what a pity it was that I, so really liberal by nature, should 
be compelled to repress so many generous impulses — that I 
should not have a fortune to spend — and I sighed from self- 
pity. I am ashamed that such ungrateful emotions should 
have disturbed my heart, and I speak of them now with shame, 
for now I feel how presumptuous they really were ; for why, 
indeed, should I have a fortune, or anything else that we have 
not gained by our own toil ? I, who am already so happy in 
the wealth of family affections, Magnus.^^ 

Hear Elsie, if the material and temporal good of mankin^ 
were first to be thought of, doubtless then it were better thaf 
wealth should be in the hands of the benevolent and philan- 
thropic. But such is not the case. It is the spiritual and eter- 
nal welfare both of the individual and of the race that is 
provided for j and hence each individual is placed in circum- 
stances, not where he can do the most seeming good, but where 
he can best develop his moral and spiritual nature. Thus, 
you have benevolence. You do not need to have that virtue 
cultivated by the contrast of your own wealth with another’s 
want, and by the exercise of almsgivings hence, you are not 
schooleif' in prosperity and the duty of beneficence. But, El* 


THE BEEHIVE. 


847 


sie, as you are not perfect, perhaps there are other virtues you 
lack, and which can be developed only in poverty. But I did 
not mean to preach you a little sermon, darling. And now, 
in requital of prosing, I will tell you two pieces of good news 
— ^first, that as this is the last year in which we shall be put to 
any expense for Hugh’s college course of lectures, we shall 
have a hundred or so dollars over our annual expenditures — 
half of this sum you shall disburse in judicious alms. That 
is ray first -piece of glad tidings, and my second is like unto it 
— Hugh himself will be home to-night.” 

“ Hugh home tc-night? Oh, you don’t say so !” 

Yes; this afternoon, in passing the post-olEce, I got a 
letter that arrived yesterday ^ and that I should have got yes- 
^terday. And this letter announces the arrival of Hugh this 
very evening.” 

“ Hugh coming home this evening ? Qh, I am so glad 1 
Children, children, did you hear ? Brother Hugh is coming 
home this evening.” 

‘^Brother Hugh is come!” said a pleasant voice, as the 
door opened, and Hugh Hutton stood among them. 

All arose, and Magnus and Elsie hastened to meet him. 

“ Hear friends,” he said, shaking hands right and left, I 
could not resist the desire I felt to go to the window and look 
in upon you while you were all at your quiet evening occupa- 
tions. I have been watching you for the last two minutes ” 
You rogue ! But come to the fire, come to the fire. Sup- 
per is just ready,” said Hoctor Hardcastle, while Hugh threw 
off his great coat, and laid it aside with his hat. Oh, Hugh, 
we are so glad to see you ! Had you a pleasant journey ? 
What time did you get to the village? You have travelled 
day and night, I am afraid ? And then you have walked from 
the village here ?” 

‘‘ Yes; I couldn’t have got a horse for two or three hours; 
and I really couldn’t wait, I was so eager to get home.” 

Hear Hugh, you must he so tired and hungry ! Here, sit 
down in this chair near the fire,” said Elsie, pushing a chair 
forward with one hand, while she held the child with the 
other arm. 

Hugh threw himself into the chair, and mechanically 
stretched out his arms and took the*crowing, laughing infant 


848 


IHE DISCARDED DAUCHTER 


from its mother, and set it upon his knee, playing with it aU 
the time he talked to others. 

^^Oh, have you got your diploma, Hugh? Let^s see the 
document with our own eyes,^^ said Doctor Hardcastle, coming 
forward. 

Yes ; here it is,” said Hugh, rooting in his pocket with 
one hand, while he hugged the baby up with the other 
Here it is. I took it out of my trunk to bring along as a 
sort of credential that your years of kindness have not been 
thrown away upon me, my best friend and Hugh produced 
the parchment, and laid it on the table. 

Good ! good ! here it is, Elsie. Come, look ! Here is 
Doctor Hutton’s warrant to kill and cure, secundum artem. 
Here is the diploma. Here is the prize for which he has 
toiled so hard — the good of his race.” 

‘‘No; not the good, but the great starting place. Is it not 
so, Hugh ?” said Elsie, coming forward. 

“ Yes, true, the starting point. She is worthier than I. 
The starting point, my boy. And now for a brilliant career. 
Aim high, Hugh. He who aims at the sun may not bring it 
down, but his arrow will fly highest. You must be more 
successful than I have been, Hugh. I am a useful — if you 
please — an extensively useful member of my profession, and of 
society. You must be a distinguished honour to the faculty 
and the world ! Oh ! I have a grand ambition for you, Hugh, 
my son !” 

“ My dear friend ! my best friend ! all that I am and have 
I owe to you, to your patient, disinterested teaching of many 
years. Oh, yes ! and all that I may become or may possess, 
I shall still owe to you ! Ah ! Doctor Hardcastle ! I speak 
of a debt ! I shall never be able to pay the debt I owe to 
you.” 

“ 'Why, Hugh!” replied Doctor Hardcastle, throwing his 
arm affectionately over the shoulder of his young friend, and 
speaking in a voice as harmonious and gentle as a woman’s. 
“ Why, Hugh ! never let me hear another word of owing any- 
thing but brotherly love to me. You who have been my 
second self in all my labours and professional cares ; a son to 
me, except that you have given me no anxiety, but much ease. 
My brother, companion, confidant ! Why, what, ever, could I 
have done without you, Hugh ? What could any of us havo 


THE BEEHIVE. 


349 


done without you ? Mrs. Garnet ! how could you have got 
along without your son, Hugh ? Elsie ! how could you have 
managed to conduct your domestic and business affairs without 
Hugh ? Children ! little ones, I say ! what would you take 
for big brother V ” 

The last named little shareholders in the Hugh Hutton 
property, swarmed around him, some with gentle, some with 
vociferous demonstrations of affection. And their mother laid 
her hands affectionately on his shoulders, and looking up in 
his face, said. 

Dear Hugh! No! no one could possibly have supplied 
your place to us, since we have known you. You have been, 
indeed, like a younger brother, or an elder son of the family, 
only that, as the doctor says, instead of giving us trouble, you 
have relieved us of it. Oh, Hugh ! our dear boy ! only bo 
half as eminent as we hope you will be, and we shall be so 
proud and happy in your success V’ 

Come, come, Elsie, a truce to sentiment ! Supper waits, 
and a man who has staged night and day for a week, and walked 
three miles to-night, must have a good appetite for his supper, 
and a strong disposition to his bed. Come ; give the babe to 
his sister, there, and draw your chair up. The children have 
been suffered to sit up in honour of your arrival, Hugh. They 
are usually in bed at this hour. Come,^' said Doctor Hard- 
castle, seating himself at the table, when all the others were 
seated, let’s see ! What have wo here to tempt a traveller’s 
appetite ? Mocha coffee — some of that which you sent us by 
the wagon, Hugh — and cream and butter, such as Elsie only 
can make. Here are some buckwheat cakes; just try one. 
Our buckwheat has surpassed itself this year. There, I don’t 
think you ever met with buckwheat cake like that in the city. 
Indeed, I don’t think people east of the mountains know what 
good buckwheat really is. Take honey with your cake. T here's 
honey for you. The comb clear and clean like amber and 
frost. Our. bees have distinguished themseJves this season. 
There are venison steaks before you. Use tb^ currant jelly 
with them, Hugh, it is better than the grape That is the 
finest venison that I have seen this winter. Ah, Hugh, you 
should have been with me when I brought that stag down 
I shot him on the Bushy Bidge. Great fellow ! — eight antlers l 
— five inches of fat in the brisket !— weighing — how much di»i 
22 


SoO THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 

he weigh, Elsie? No matter. You are laughing, Hugh. 
What at, sir, pray V’ 

At you^ and myself, and stag-hunting, and deer-stalking, 
and story-telling. The truth is, I never hear of stags and 
antlers, but I think of a fine, bragging tale I was cut short in 
while telling to my fellow-students at a little farewell supper 
given by them to me when I was coming away. I was trying 
to persuade some of them to cbme out here, and boasting of 
the country. I was launched into the midst of a grandiloquent 
eulogium. ^ Griorious country, sir !’ said I, ^ glorious country i 
sublime mountains, piercing the clouds ! mag-?^^y’-i-cent forests 
stretching five hundred miles westward ! splendid trees, sir, 
standing but two feet apart, their trunks measuring three 
yards in circumference ! their luxurious branches inextricably 
intertwined ! and game, sir ! superb deer, with antlers six feet 
apart, bounding through those forests — ^ Where the trees 
grow but two feet apart, and their branches are inextricably 
entwined, how the very deuce do they manage to get through 
them, Hutton V asked my friend, bringing my magniloquence 
to a sudden stand. I never was so disconcerted in my life. 
I knew I had been telling the truth, yet had made it sound 
like a fiction. At last I answered, ^ By Hian, sir, that is their 
business, not mine, or yours V ” 

Ha, ha, ha ! Yes, pretty good ! Yet, Hugh, you are not 
romancing. There are parts of the forest where the great 
trees grow in such thickets as you have described ; but they 
are as impassable to the deer as to us, of course ; and then 
there are superb game in the forest, which may never approach 
within miles of such thickets. Take another cup of coffee 

^^No, no, not any more,’’ said Hugh, pushing up his plate 
and cup. 

Mrs. llardcastle gave the signal, and they arose from the 
table. The children had also finished their milk and bread, 
and their mother took them up stairs to be put to bed, while 
Mrs. G-arnet washed up the tea things, and Doctor Hardcastle 
replenished the fire. 

When the table was cleared away, and Elsie had returned, 
and they were all gathered around the evening fireside, deeply 
engaged in telling and in hearing all that had happened to 
each during the winter’s separation, Hugh suddenly clapped 
his hand to his pocket, with a — 


THE BEEHIVE. 


351 


Lord bless my soul 
What’s the matter ?” 

Oh, was ever ^uch absence of mind !” 

Never in the world, of course. Only what’s it about?” 
laughed Doctor Hardcastle. 

‘‘ Why, a letter — a letter that came in the same stage with 
myself — a letter from Huttontown, for you. I took it out 
of the office, and — indeed, I hope I have not lost it,” continued 
Hugh, fumbling first in one pocket, and then in another. Oh,, 
here it is,” he exclaimed, producing the letter, and handing it 
to the doctor. 

“ The superscription is in a strange hand, to begin with — 
a lady’s hand. Who can it be from ?” said Doctor Hardcastle, 
breaking the seal. “ Dated ^ Mount Calm.’ ” 

Mount Calm!” exclaimed all three of his hearers, in a 
breath. 

“ Yes, dated ^ Mount Calm,’ and signed ^ Garnet Seabright.’ ” 

“ Garaet Seabright ?” exclaimed Mrs. Garnet, in a tone of 
surprise and displeasure. 

“ My little sister Nettie,” said Hugh, bending forward with 
interest. 

“ Can you read it aloud, doctor ?” inquired Elsie, in a low 
voice. 

“ Yes, dear,” replied Doctor Hardcastle, stooping to pick 
up a second letter, that had fallen out of the first, and retain- 
ing the one in his hand while he read the other, as follows : 

Mount Calm, March 1st, 18 — . 

Doctor Hardcastle — Dear Sir : Will you do me the fa- 
vour of transmitting the enclosed letter to Doctor Hugh Hut- 
ton, of whose address I am entirely ignorant ? Pray, pardon 
me for urging your prompt attention to my request, as its sub- 
ject is of the utmost importance to Doctor Hutton, and re- 
quires his instant action. Very respectfully. 

Garnet Seabright. 

“ Here, Hugh, after all, the matter concerned only you 
Here is your letter,” said Doctor Hardcastle, handing over the 
enclosed epistle to Hugh, who took it with a look of amazed 
interest, tore it open, and read it in silence. Suddenly he 
sprung up, overturning the chair, and dropping the letter, as 
he exclaimed, vehemently. 


852 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


^^Your horse! Your horse, Doctor! Can I have your 
horse, to-night 

‘‘ ^ A horse ! a horse ! my kingdom for a horse !^ Why, 
what the deuce is the matter now? Who’s killed? Who’s 
wounded?” 

Oh, doctor, no jesting. This is serious — this is terrible. 
Only — quick ! — can I have your horse ?” 

Certainly, certainly, Hugh. But tell me, in one word, 
what’s the matter ?” 

My mother, my long-lost mother, is found, and at Mount 
Calm, but ill and dying, I fear. There ! read Nettie’s letter, 
while I saddle the horse. I must ride at once to the village — 
the mail stage starts from there at ten o’clock. I must go in 
it,” said Hugh, hastening out. 

Mrs. Garnet and Elsie gathered around Doctor Hardcastle, 
while he read the following letter : 

Mount Calm, March 1st, 18 — 

Dearest Hugh : Wherever you are, and whatever may be 
your engagements, drop them at once, and hasten to Mount 
Calm. Your long-lost mother is found — she is here with me, 
but very, very ill of brain fever. Hasten. There are other 
thingSj too, dear Hugh, of which I cannot write now, but of 
which you will hear when you come. I write in haste and . 
agitation, but, indeed, I am, as much as ever. 

Your affectionate sister, Nettie. 

“ Strange ! most strange !” said Mrs. Garnet. 

And most unsatisfactory,” observed Elsie. 

^^We shall know no more, however, until Hugo writes us 
from Mount Calm. Here he comes ! How quick he has been !” 
said the doctor, going to meet Hugh, as he entered. 

You know, Hugh, how much I feel with you, about this. 
Let me know now if in any way I can be of service to 
you.” 

Oh, my friend, I know all your goodness. But do you 
know how much my secret heart has ever been filled with the 
desire of finding my mother ? I did never hope to find her, 
but still, from my boyhood, the thought of seeing her has 
haunted me like the dream of an impossible good ; and now 
jihe is found, but — 


THE BEEHIVE. 3.53 

Hugh’s voice broke down, and he covered his face with his 
hands. 

Hope for the best, Hugh. You used to he hopeful. And, 
oh, Hugh, he sure that we feel your trouble as if it were our 
own. It is our own,” said Elsie, laying her hand gently upon 
him. 

My horse is ready. I only run in to say good-hye, good- 
bye, dear friends. Hood-hye, Mrs. G-arnet — pray that I may 
not he too late ! Good-hye, Mrs. Hardcastle — give my love to 
the dear children when they ask for me to-morrow. Good- 
hye, Doctor Hardcastle, my best friend. I will write to you 
from Mount Calm,” said Hugh, shaking and squeezing hands 
right and left, and then preparing to hasten out. 

Ain’t you going to take your great coat?” asked the doc- 
tor, holding it up. 

Yes, yes ; I had forgotten it. I haven’t time to put it on. 
I can throw it upon the horse,” exclaimed Hugh, hurriedly 
thr-owing the garment over his arm. Once more, good-bye 
to all.” 

If I had a second horse, or had time to borrow one, I 
would go with you, Hugh,” said Doctor Hardcastle, attending 
him from the house. 


854 


TUB DISCARDED 


DAUaHTER. 


CHAPTER XLIII. 

HUGH AND GARNET. 

When friends do meet in sorrow’s hour, 

’Tis like a sun-glimpse through a shower, 

A watery ray, an instant seen, 

The darMy closing clouds between. — Scott. 

The full moon was shining broadly and brightly over the 
snow-clad hills and plains around Mount Calm, when Hugh 
Hutton rode up to the front entrance of the mansion in a full 
gallop. He threw himself from his horse, flung the reins to a 
servant in attendance, ran up the marble stairs, and without 
stopping to ring, pushed at once into the house. 

A large hanging lamp lighted up the hall, and its rays fell 
upon the form of a majestic and beautiful girl, whose presence 
immediately arrested the impetuous hurry of the visiter. 
Pausing, he bowed with deference, saying. 

Miss Seabright 

He had always thought of her as Nettie j until he saw her 
he purposed to have called her Nettie ; but this was not to be 
thought of now, in the presence of this imperial-looking girl, 
with whom he would no more have ventured upon familiarity 
than he would have dared to make free with an empress. 
She, too, had thought of her childhood’s companion as plain 
Hugh, had addressed him as dear Hugh in her letter ; but 
now, when she saw before her this stately and reserved man, 
she blushed to think of it. And when, with deferential sua- 
vity, bs repeated his question. 


HUGH AND GARNET. 


355 


I presume — Miss Seabright ’ 

She answered, ^‘Yes, Doctor Hutton;^' and added, with 
mournful gentleness, under happier circumstances I should 
say that I am very glad to see you, sir ; but now I can only tell 
you truly that you are very, very welcome to Mount Calm.^' 
And she offered him her hand. 

My mother ? Miss Seabright ! How is my mother he 
inquired, alarmed at the sorrowful manner of his young 
hostess. 

‘‘ Come into the parlour. Doctor Hutton, there is a fire there, 
and you are chilled,^^ said G-arnet, sadly evading the question, 
and leading the way. 

My mother 1” again inquired the guest, when she had 
conducted him into the drawing-room. 

“ Sit down, pray, sit down, you look so weary — ^here, near 
the fire,^^ said his hostess, drawing a chair to the hearth. He 
dropped into the seat — his prophetic heart already prepared 
for the words she was about to utter. 

“ Your mother. Doctor Hutton, is above all pain and grief 
now.^^ 

Dead ! dead I” exclaimed Hugh, dropping his head upon 
his open hands. 

Garnet bent over the side of his chair, and laid her hand 
gently on his shoulder, and bowed her head until her tears 
fell upon his hands, but said nothing. 

At last — “ How long since he asked, raising his head. 

She seated herself by his side, and with her hand gently 
laid upon his, she replied. 

Your mother was ill but three days. Doctor Hutton. 
Upon the first day I wrote to you — upon the third she passed 
away. It is four days since, so that you see you could not 
have reached here, even by the utmost speed ^ and so you have 
nothing to blame yourself for.’^ 

Dead ! really dead ! dead four days !” he exclaimed, bury- 
ing his face in his hands. 

‘‘No, not dead — living ^ in Heaven! You hnow that — try 
to feel it also,^^ she said, tenderly. 

He did not reply, nor did he speak again for some time, nor 
did she break upon the sacred silence of his grief by any ill- 
judged attempt at consolation. 

At last l>e broke forth in bitter lamentation, 


856 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


Oh, that she had hut lived ! Oh, that my poor mother 
had but lived ! That her son might have atoned in the last 
half of her life for the sorrows of her youth ! Oh, that my 
mother had but lived I” 

Ah i do not mourn so ; believe me, it is far better as it 
is. There are some lives so wronged, so broken, that nothing 
but death can set them right. Such a life was hers. There 
iirjQ some sorrows so deep that nothing but Heaven can cure 
them. Such sorrows were hers. Oh ! believe me^ by all the 
loving kindness of the Father, it is better as it is,^^ said Grar- 
net, kindly pressing the hand she held. 

If I could have seen her but once ! Oh, Miss Seabright ! 
I thought but little about her in my boyhood, but as I grew 
to man^s estate, the one secret, cherished hope of my heart was 
to hnd my mother — to devote my life to her. Oh, that I could 
have found her; oh, that I could have reached here in time to 
have seen her living face but once, so as to have known and 
remembered it.^^ 

Again I say it is better as it is. The tender mercy of 
God spared you the trial. Would you have carried away in 
your heart the picture of a countenance transiently distorted 
by delirium, as the only impression of your mothers face ? 
Oh, no ! Think of her only as she has been described to you 
in her youthful beauty, or think of her as she is now, in her 
immortal beauty. She has always been shrined in your heart 
as a beautiful and sacred memory, and hope. Let it be so 
still, and let the hope be immortal.^^ 

She ceased speaking, and both relapsed into silence, that 
lasted until the door opened, and a servant entered, bringing 
colfee and other refreshments upon a waiter. 

‘‘ Wheel the table forward here, and set the waiter upon it, 
and then you may go, Pompey,’^ said Miss Seabright, in a low 
voice. The man obeyed and left the room. 

When they were alone together again. Miss Seabright poured 
out a cup of coffee, and offered it to her guest. He thanked 
her, but declined it, and dropped his head again upon his 
hands, and fell into silence and despondency. 

Miss Seabright put the cup of coffee down and came and 
sat by his side, and laid her hand upon him again, and said, 
softly, 

‘‘I feel how you suffer, Doctor Hutton; and I can imagine 


HUaH AND GARNET. 


357 

that when we have lost a dear friend or near relative, especially 
a parent, we should think it almost a sin to take comfort in 
any way, and selfishness even to refresh the wasted, wearied 
frame with needful food and sleep. It is so natural to feel so. 
Fasting and vigil are first compelled by anxiety and grief, and 
afterwards, when all is over, and when nature has reasserted 
her claims, and made us feel the need of food and rest — still 
often the hearts fond superstition will not yield, and fasting 
and vigil are offered as a tribute to the memory of the lost. It 
is so natural — but so wrong. Doctor Hutton — the rent gar- 
ments, and the torn hair, and the ashes sprinkled on the head, 
and the inordinate worship of grief, belong to Pagan bereave- 
ment, which is ^without hope, and without Grod^ — not to 
Christian sorrow, which should be calmed by resignation, and 
cheered by faith. My friend, you are very weary and de- 
pressed — ^you need refreshment. Come, Hugh, lift up your 
head ; take this coffee from my hand — ^Nettie’s hand.^^ 

As she stooped over him offering the cup, the ends of her 
soft ringlets touched his brow, and her breath fanned his 
cheek. He raised his head, received the refreshment, and 
gratefully pressed the gentle hand that gave it. When he had 
drained the cup, and set it down, he said. 

Miss Seabright, how much I thank you for your sympathy 
and kindness none can know but God. Dear and gentle com- 
forter, tell me, now, the facts of this sad discovery. When 
did my mother return, and under what circumstances T* 

Had you not better defer hearing this story for the pre- 
sent, Doctor Hutton ? You look so tired. Ketire early, and 
sleep well to-night, and to-morrow morning I will tell you 
everything you desire to know.^^ 

Miss Seabright, I have not slept since I received your let- 
ter, telling me of my mother’s advent and illness. I shall 
never be able to sleep until I have heard all you have to tell 
me of that mother’s history and sorrows. But, Miss Seabright, 
I beg your pardon — you are so good, that your very goodness 
has made me selfish, and forgetful of the trouble I may give 
you. You are doubtless fatigued, and should not be longer 
harassed by the presence of an exacting egotist like me. If so 
let me bid you good-night,” said Doctor Hutton, rising. 

Oh, no, sit down ; besides, I cannot let you go to-night 
You are to remain with us, certainly, to-night — and as many 


858 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


more days and nights as your convenience will permit. Sit 
down ; I am not the least wearied, and if, indeed, you think 
you will rest better after having heard the story I h{we io tell 
you, why, of course, I will willingly tell it. Yes, and upon 
second thought, I feel that it is better you should hear it to- 
night. To-night let the grave close in faith over the sad past. 
To-morrow, you will arise with new hope for the future.^^ 

They both resumed their seats. And Miss Seabright re- 
lated to him the story of the nightly light seen on Hutton^a 
Isle; her visit there, to ascertain the cause; her guardian’s 
unexpected arrival ; the sudden apparition of Agnes ; the en- 
counter and the death of Lionel Hardcastle by the accidental 
discharge of the pistol. Having reached this point of her 
story, she went on to say : 

‘‘ At the first appearance of j^our mother, I saw by her wild 
look and frenzied manner, that reason had fled. But instantly 
after the fall of Lionel Hardcastle, the sudden change, the 
quiet manner with which she exculpated herself from the sus- 
picion of blood-guiltiness, deceived me so that I mistook for 
sanity that mood which was only the reaction of frenzy — or at 
best, a lucid interval of madness. As soon as I had ascer- 
tained the victim to be quite dead, and had collected my 
thoughts for action, I determined to return to the mainland 
and rouse the magistrate. Judge Wylie. The unhappy woman 
was sitting upon the ground, with her head bowed upon her 
hands, and her wild hair streaming all around her, like a veil. 
J spoke to her, and told her my purpose, and asked her to ac- 
company me. She gave me no reply. I spent a long time in 
trying to persuade her to get up and go with me — but I could 
not get a word or gesture from her. I made no more impres- 
sion on her than if she had been a statue. Finally, I was 
obliged to leave her for the purpose of procuring assistance. I 
went down to the beach, got into the skiff, took the paddle, 
and rowed swiftly to the landing at Point Pleasant. I found 
all the family there still up, owing to the decease of old Mrs. 
Wylie, who had just expired. Judge Wylie, with his usual 
promptitude, gave me all the help that was needful. I re- 
turned with the party to Hutton Isle, where we found the 
unfortunate woman in the same posture in which I had left 
her. I spoke to her again, and with no more success than be- 
fore. Finding it impossible to make any impression upon her, 


HUGH AND GARNET. 


359 

I requested Mr. Ulysses Roebuck, who had the commaud of 
the party, to lift her up gently and convey her to the boat. 
He attempted to do so, but on being raised she broke into sud- 
den frenzy. Doctor Hutton, spare me and yourself the details 
of this illness — it is over now. It is sufficient to say, that she 
was brought hither, that she had the best medical attendance, 
and the best nursing that could be procured. She recovered 
her reason about an hour before her death, and asked to see a 
clergyman. Mr. Wilson, the Methodist preacher, attended 
her. Of the circumstances of her forcible abduction, and the 
misfortunes that ensued to her, she refused to make any reve- 
lations, saying that the dying should not drop a fire-brand into 
the circle they were leaving. When told that she had a son, 
she blessed you, and left this message for you, that ^Forgive- 
ness is the only remedy for some wrongs and of herself, she 
said, that ^ Death was the only rectifier of some lives.’ She 
died at set of sun — camly and hopefully. At some future day 
I will show you where they have laid her. As for the un- 
happy man who met his death so suddenly — the Coroner’s 
jury sat upon his case before his remains were permitted to 
be removed from the Isle. The body was then conveyed to 
Hemloffii Hollow for burial. Old Mr.^Hardcastle has not been 
able to leave his bed since the shock of his son’s sudden death 
threw him upon it. It is supposed that he cannot recover.” 
This Miss Seabright added with the purpose of partially divert- 
ing the mind of her guest from dwelling too intently upon the 
circumstances of his mother’s death. 

At the close of her recital Doctor Hutton remained silent 
for a few minutes, and then taking and pressing her hand, he 
thanked her, with much emotion, for the care she had bestow- 
ed upon his mother. 

Miss Seabright rang for night-lamps, and when they were 
brought, directed the servant to attend Doctor Hutton’s leisure, 
and when he felt inclined to retire, to show him to his cham- 
ber. Then bidding her guest good-night, she left the room. 

The next morning Doctor Hutton came down very early and 
found Miss Seabright already in the drawing-room. She ad- 
vanced to meet him, holding out her hand. After the usual 
courteous inquiries about health, &c., Doctor Hutton said, 

“ Miss Seabright, I scarcely know how to pardon myself for 


360 THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 

my forgetfulness of an aged and worthy relative last evening; 
but pray tell me now, how is my old aunt V 

Miss Joe ! oh, very well, indeed. The only mark of in 
firmity I can perceive in her is her wish to go to bed earlier 
now than heretofore. She had retired before you arrived last 
night, and I would not have her disturbed. She is in the 
breakfast-room superintending breakfast. She knows that you 
are here, but does not know that you have risen. Shall I 
send for her 1.” 

If you please, Miss Seabright. I have not seen my aunt 
f3r two years. I have generally made it a point to come and 
see her every year or two since I first left her, and should have 
visited her this spring even, had not your letter summoned me 
now. Ah ! here she comes.’^ 

Miss Joe came in smiling and weeping, and wringing her 
nose, and wiping her spectacles with her check apron, and as 
soon as she saw her nephew, she ran to him and fell in his 
arms, laughing and crying and talking all at once, and not re- 
gaining self-possession until she became alarmed for the pro- 
priety of her cap and kerchief, when she extricated herself, 
smoothing down her apron, and exclaiming. 

There, Hugh ! There, Nefiy ! You’re not a baby now ; 
don’t tumble my cap and my handkerpher — there’s no sense 
in it though, dear old soul, the fault lay all the while in hei 
own fondling — not Hugh’s. There^ come to breakfast now. 
It is all on the table waiting, and will get cold.” 

Doctor Hutton offered his arm to Miss Seabright, and they 
went in to breakfast. 

After the meal was over. Doctor Hutton made a motion to 
depart, but Miss Joe vigorously opposed his purpose, suppli- 
cating him to remain at Mount Calm for only a few days, if 
not longer. Miss Seabright joined her invitation to the old 
lady’s entreaties, and Doctor Hutton finally consented to stay, 
and retired to his room to write letters to his friends in the 
West. 


The few days of Doctor Hutton’s projected stay at Mount 
Calm grew into a week, and the week was stretching into a 
month, and still Hugh Hutton found it daily more difficult to 


HUGH AND GARNET. 361 

tear himself away from Garnet Seabright, for every time he 
would make an attempt to go, she would say, 

^^Not yet, Doctor Hutton. Not just yeti Stay till to- 
norrow and she would think, — Wh^ does he not speak ? He 

loves me ! He stays here at my bidding. He must know 
that I love him, too ! Why does he not speak ? Will he go 
away without an explanation ? Can it he that my fortune and 
, his own lack of wealth hinders him ? There are some men so 
proud that they will not marry an heiress, lest it he said of 
them that they owe all they have to their wives. But such a 
thought would never enter the head of my noble Hugh ! He 
would not elevate money on one side or the other into impor- 
tance enough to divide two hearts that love. Yet there is 
some reason, and some good reason why, when his eyes and 
tone? and gestures tell me every hour that he loves and esteems 
me, his words never do/^ And then sometimes when alone, 
she would break forth, impatiently, thus — Indeed, I won^t 
bear this much longer ! No, that I wonH ! I sha^nH have 
Hughes heart and my own tormented in this way to no good 
purpose ! I will make him tell me what it all means ! Feel- 
ing very sure he loves me, he shall tell me what all this hesi- 
tation means.^^ 

Such would be her impatient resolve, but Garnet never 
could bring herself to lead her lover on to any explanation, 
until one night, when Hugh, for the dozenth time, made known 
that he should leave Mount Calm the next morning. It was 
after supper, when Miss J oe retired, and they were playing a 
game of backgammon together. Miss Seabright looked up 
from her dice, and said. 

Well, Doctor Hutton, since you are going to-morrow, and 
I feel that we cannot justly keep you from your business any 
longer, I wish, before you depart, to ask your advice — I — 

^‘Well, Miss Seabright 

I — ^you know that my social position is a very singidai 
one.'^ 

“ It is indeed. Miss Seabright.” 

“ Kesponsible as I am for the faithful stewardship of a very 
large fortune — ” 

It is indeed, in your case especially, a very heavy respoa- 
libility.” 


862 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


Yes — and I have neither father nor brother to aid and 
counsel me/^ 

My poor counsel is at your command always, Miss Sea- 
bright.’^ 

‘‘ Thank you ! It is in relation to the stewardship of Hea- 
ven’s goods intrusted to me, that I wish your advice. One 
should not live for themselves alone, you know.’^ 

Assuredly not,” said Doctor Hutton, giving her his close 
attention. 

Miss Seahright then related at length certain very judicious 
and extensive schemes of benevolence, and desired his opinion 
upon them. 

Your plans of usefulness and beneficence would be both 
wise and good, reflecting honour on your head and heart, 
out that they lack the proper foundation of all schemes of 
action.” 

What is that ?” 

Justice” 

Justice ?” 

Justice !” 

I do not understand you in the least I” 

Miss Seahright, have you ever learned how it was that 
you came into possession of all this estate ?” 

My dear godfather gave it to me.” 

Do you know why he conveyed it to you in his life, rather 
than bequeath it to you at his death ?” 

Because, had he merely bequeathed it to you, his will 
would have been set aside by our courts of justice in favour 
of his wife and child.” 

Well, he did convey it to me ! It is mine, at all events 
said G-arnet, with a lushed cheek and brow. 

And yet he had a wife and daughter whom he beggared to 
t urich you — was this right ?” 

Right ! Yes, it was right ! He cut off a fugitive wife 
and a rebellious daughter ! Right ! Yes, it was right ! he did 
it and he could have done no wrong ! therefore it was right ! 
Right ! Yes, it was right ! Who dares to gainsay it ?” she 
exclaimed, with her bosom heaving, and her colour rising. 

“ Ah ! Miss Seahright, it is an ungracious task indeed, to 
unveil before you the true character and hidden motives of 


HUGH AND GARNET. 863 

your benefactor, of one whom you have always looked upon with 
affection and respect — ” 

Stop I” exclaimed Garnet, breathlessly, and pressing both 
hands upon her bosom, as was her custom, when trying to re- 
press an irruption of anger. “ Stop ! If you are about to 
breathe a syllable reflecting upon the memory of my god- 
father — HOLD ! I will not hear a breath, believe me ! A 
word that should wound his good name, would transfix my 
own heart.^^ 

For your dear sake. Miss Seabright, I will respect the 
name of General Garnet — but for the dearer sake of justice, 1 
will plead the cause of his widow and daughter.’^ 

Of his widow and daughter ! I am not — the Lord knows 
it ! — ungrateful, ungenerous, or cruel ; I will largely dower 
them boih.^^ 

You will do no such thing. Miss Seabright ! I trust there 
is too much latent nobility in your character to permit you to 
add such ^ insult^ to their ^ injury.^ ” 

Then what is it that you wish me to do V’ 

What your conscience shall, after you understand the mat- 
ter, dictate to be done. He who gave you the Mount Calm 
estate had n^ just right to do so. The whole of the estate 
came by his wife^ and should descend to her daughter. It 
was held by her family, the Chesters, for two hundred years.^^ 
Well, I think two centuries quite long enough for any one 
family to hold any one landed estate. I think it quite time 
the property had passed into other hands, said Miss Sea- 
bright, firmly. Then she added, Besides, my godfather 
must have had a legal right to the property, else he could not 
have conveyed it to me,^^ 

“ Miss Seabright, if you will permit me, for justice^ sake, I 
will tell you the whole history of the transaction by which 
General .Garnet became legally possessed of the Mount Calm 
estate. It is right — ^it is necessary that you should know it/' 
Say on, sir." 

Doctor Hutton began, and, softening as much as possible, 
for her sake, the conduct of General Garnet, related the atro- 
cious history of his life and actions, — first how, aided by her 
father, he sundered the engagement existing between Alice 
Chester and Milton Sinclair, and forcibly married the heart- 
broken child ; their wedded life of tyranny on his side and 


864 THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 

sufferance on hers; the separation of the mother and daugh- 
ter ; in after years his betrothal of Elsie and Magnus ; his sub- 
sequent attempt to break their engagement, from mercenary 
motives ; his furious anger at their marriage ; the arts by which 
he gained from his wife a deed of the Mount Calm estate ; his 
revenge in disinheriting his daughter ; the taunts and cruelties 
by which he had nearly caused the death of his wife, and had 
finally driven her from him ; and lastly, the legal acumen with 
which, for the sake of more surely impoverishing his wife and 
child, he had conveyed the estate, instead of bequeathing it, 
knowing that the will, upon account of its crying injustice, 
would have been set aside by the courts, in favour of the widow 
and daughter. 

There, Miss Seabright, that is the way in which your god- 
father first, and you after him, came into possession of the 
Mount Calm property.^^ 

Garnet Seabright had not listened patiently to this recital. 
Many times her large, heavily-fringed eyes blazed and darkened 
— her cheeks crimsoned and faded, and though she pressed both 
hands to her chest, her bosom heaved and fell like the waves 
of the sea. Many times she interrupted him, and nothing, 
perhaps, but the felt law of justice, enabled Doctor Hutton 
to persevere to the close of his ungracious and unwelcome 
narrative. 

When he had closed by revealing the hypocrisy, treachery, 
and revenge of General Garnet, all the colour was suddenly 
struck out from her face, as though she had been blasted by a 
stroke of lightning, so white, so still and aghast was her aspect 
Doctor Hutton hastened to her side, and took her hand. At 
the touch, she rose in trepidation, and scarcely heeding what 
she said, exclaimed. 

Not now ! Not one single word now ! I must be alone, 
or die ! To-morrow ! — to-morrow I will hear you and hur- 
ried, or rather reeled from the room. 


iHa 


STRUGGLE. 




CHAPTER XLIV. 

THE STRUGGLE OP LOVE AND AMBITION. 

Her passion-tortured soul, 

Like a ship dashed by fierce encountering tides, 

And of her pilot spoiled, driyes round and round, 

The sport of wind and wave. 

The next morning she appeared at the breakfast table, with 
a face so pale and stern, as almost to awe the good Miss Joe 
from making an inquiry as to her health. And when at last 
the old lady asked her if she were not well, she replied, 
curtly. 

An ill nighPs rest and the questioning ceased. 

When she had retired to the drawing-room. Doctor Hutton 
followed her thither. He found her standing on the rug, and 
resting her forehead against*the mantel-piece. Her long ring- 
lets hanging low, concealed her face from his view, until she 
turned around and said, in a very low voice, 

“ Doctor Hutton, you are not going away this morning, are 
you 

^^No, Miss Seahright ! — no. Garnet. I did not rouse a war 
in your soul to leave you until peace should be restored.^^ 

I do not know why you should say there is a war,^’ sain 
Garnet, in a deep voice. 

. I can see it. That fiery blood that has left your brow 
and cheeks and very lips of a gray paleness, has mustered 
fome where. Besides, I know you. Garnet. You were always 
23 


866 


THE DISCARDED DAU3HTER. 


very transparent to me. 1 know that in your soul the powers 
of good and evil are drawn out in battle array against each 
other.^^ 

With an adjuring gesture, she left her position, and, cross- 
ing the room, threw herself into a chair. He watched her 
some few minutes, where she sat with her pale brow resting on 
one hand, and the other hanging listlessly down, and then he 
slowly crossed the room, and dropping upon one knee by her 
side, raised her hand to his bosom, and said, in a voice deep 
with passion, 

“ Miss Seabright ! — Nettie, my dear sister ! — my wife, if 
you will bless me so ! — I wish — I do wish I had a kingdom to 
offer you to replace this Mount Calm. As it is, I have only 
myself, and an affection, an affection, Nettie, that — Oh, 1 
cannot tell you in a few words, a few seconds, that love which 
it will take all the years we live together to express, to live 
out \” 

^^Oh, Hugh!’^ she said, in broken accents, ^Cf you knew 
where this rack screws and strains my heart-strings most — to 
think that one whom I always loved and honoured with a pas- 
sionate enthusiasm as the very first in human excellence — but 
no more of that! Not lips shall breathe one word of 
blame, though all earth and Heaven cry shame on his 
memory \” said G-arnet, as her dark eyes smouldered, and 
flashed, and sank again, as she breathed, in heart-broken 
tones — ^<No more of that! Oh, God, that I could say to my 
thoughts^ as to my tongue — ^No more of that!’ ” 

And scarcely heeding her lover, she arose, threw back her 
falling hair, pressed both hands upon her bosom, and passed 
out of the room. 

It was late in the evening before he saw her again. He 
went into the library after the lamps were lighted, and found 
her sitting at one of the reading tables, with her head bowed 
down upon her folded hands. He went and sat by her, 
saying, 

G'arnet, dearest, do not keep your thoughts and troubles 
all to yourself^ let me share them. Come, come,” he con- 
tinued, caressing her, ‘Hhis is unkind! I have had a very 
solitary day.” ^ 

‘<A solitary day! I wish you joy of it! Mine has been 
•peopled with the furies.’ Oh, Hugh, even in my wild in- 


THE STRUGGLE. 


367 

fancy I was sucb an ambitious child ! ^Though Heaven knows 
there was nothing around me to foster ambition, unless it 
were the want of everything, and the study of fairy tales 1 
Oh, Hugh ! if the little wild water-witch of the isle was am- 
bitious — 

‘‘^The woman, gifted with beauty, talent, wealth, and 
largest liberty, is a hundred times more so,^ you would say,^*' 
said Hugh. But, Garnet, do you know there is an ambition 
more noble than all others — that of moral greatness ! Gar- 
net, you have the opportunity granted to few — the opportunity 
of moral heroism I” 

Oh, Hugh ! before I saw you, I had great schemes ! great 
schemes 

I know it, dear Garnet ; but they did not demand the 
great moral force required of you to-day.^^ 

But since you came, Hugh — Here her voice broke 
down, and she dropped her head upon the table foi a few 
minutes. Then lifting it up again, she held her veil of ring- 
lets back, and said — But since you came, Hugh, all schemes 
have given place to one ; I had been living in such a golden 
dream, dear Hugh ! Oh, listen ! You know when we were 
two poor children, obliged to pick our frugal meal of manino- 
fiies from the beach, and I, inspired by the Arabian Nights 
Entertainments, would be talking my wild, childish talk about 
sudden riches, and fairy grandmothers, you said you had a 
fairy in your head who could convert the sand and clay into 
gold-dust and precious gems 

Yes, I remember. It was when I dreamed of being an 
agriculturist.'^ 

And you promised you would make a fortune for me ; 
confer rank, and wealth, and honour upon me she asked, 
smiling very sadly. 

“Yes — ^yes, Nettie!" he answered, solemnly. “Yes, and 
I hold myself bound to redeem that boyish pledge. Doubly 
bound now, Nettie ; for I must repay you for all you lose."^ 

“Oh, stop ! — hear me out. Well — heigho 1 I thought if 
Hugh could give Garnet a fortune, he might also take one 
from her — take one with her. Oh, Hugh ! I knew I could 
not confer upon you rank or honour, you must make them for 
both of us, but I dreamed that I could give you wealth to 
aid in doing it. Hugh, listen I I heard you say that you 


868 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


would life© to travel, and spend some time in London, Paris, 
ftnd at some of the German cities, for the sake of perfecting 
your medical knowledge. I then heard you regret that ne- 
cessity which urged your immediate settlement in some 
Western neighbourhood, to commence practice. Well, Hugh, 
I dreamed that necessity would be obviated. I dreamed, 
Hugh, that we would make a bridal tour to Europe, and so- 
journ in all these capitals, while you pursued your studies at 
your ease. Now my dream is over ! — over \” 

God bless you for saying that. Garnet ! God bless you 
for saying that ! The dream is over ! — the dream is over ! — 
the battle is over, and your moral sense has nobly conquered; 
you will yield up this property V’ 

^^Over! — the battle — the over ! No! no! no! no! I 

did not say that either I” exclaimed Miss Seabright, her whole 
aspect changing. Suddenly rising, with flashfng eyes and 
burning cheeks, and pacing_the room with rapid steps — 
Over ! no ! Man ! man ! is it a flower, a ring, an orange 
you ask me for, that I should give it up without a struggle — 
as a matter of course ? Give up this estate ! Why, I should 
be insane, frantic, frenzied ! nothing short of ranting mad ! 
Why, Hugh, is there a man, woman, or child, now living on 
this earth, who would voluntarily yield up an estate which 
they might keep — an estate of two millions of dollars — for — 
what ? — a point of conscience ! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha ! 
Come, answer me V’ she exclaimed, throwing herself into a 
chair, with a strange, unnatural air of audacity. Say ! is 
there a man, woman, or child, living, who would do this 

Yes. An^ child would do it. There is one man I know 
who would do it. There is one woman who will do it.^^ 

''Your 

" Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha ! Why, Doctor Hutton — any 
one, if they were very wealthy, might give up a thousand — 
ten thousand dollars, for conscience’ sake — but two millions ! 
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha ! Why, Doctor Hutton ! I am a 
human being, subject to like passions and foibles with other 
people. I rather like wealth, handsome houses and furniture, 
and dress and jewels, and servants and equigages, and travel- 
ling, sight-seeing, and change of scene. And if there were 
nothing to be given up but these, how great would be the 


THE STRUGGLE. 


869 


sacrifice. But then I have magnificent plans of extensive 
philanthropy ; glorious prospects of social distinction. And 
to renounce these ! How tremendous the renunciation 

Ah, Nettie ! with your usual perfect openness, you have 
revealed the very death-throes of your expiring selfishness. 
For your selfishness — will die ! Conscience will conquer it. 
The cup of earthly prosperity is brimful, and at your lips — 
but you will put it, untasted, away. I know you will. I 
have perfect faith in you.^^ 

Hugh, you kill me ! You madden me ! Have you no 
pity ? I believe you think you will make me do it she ex- 
claimed, starting up, and pacing the floor rapidly. I do be- 
lieve you fancy that you will make me give up this estate, by 
asserting confidently that I will do it.^^ 

think your true nobility of soul will constrain you 

to it.'^ 

Suddenly she stopped, threw both hands to her breast, and 
turned so ghastly pale, that Doctor Hutton sprang to her side, 
exclaiming, 

■ G-arnet, you are ill ! is it possible that this struggle pro- 
duces such an effect upon you V* 

She dropped her hands from her bosom, her colour returned, 
and, smiling strangely, she said. 

Why, Hugh, do you fancy that I am such a spoiled child 
as to grow ill because I want to have my own in all things ? 
No ! But as I hurried up and down the room in such a heat, 
I was arrested suddenly by a quick, sharp pang ; a deathly 
pang that caught away my breath. It seemed to me as if 
another movement would have been fatal ; it seemed as if in 
the very flow of my high tide of life and audacity, the skele- 
ton fingers of death had closed around my heart and squeezed 
it. It is gone now. Nay, now, nonsense, Hugh. Do not 
look at me with such a death-warrant in your eyes. If you 
look at your patients that way you will frighten them to 
death she said, laughing. 

Garnet, sit down. There, give me your wrist. Did you 
ever experience this symptom before V’ 

Symptom ! Bless you. Doctor Hutton, it is not a symp- 
tom. Doctor Htitton, if you are out of practice, and wish tc 
get your hand in again, I refer you to all the hypochondriacal 


370 THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 

old men and women on the plantation, who will delight your 
professional heart with ^symptoms’ for any length of time/^ 
G-arnet, you have been too much agitated to-day, for one 
of your excitable temperament. Go to rest.’^ 

will — I feel, for the very first time in my life, a little 
exhausted,'^ she replied, rising, and extending her hand. 

He drew her unresisting to his bosom, pressed a kiss upon 
her brow, and led her to the door. 

• He did not see her again until the next day at dinner, when 
she appeared in full dress, and looking grandly beautiful, joy- 
ous, and decided. He congratulated her. She smiled exult- 
ingly, and said, 

I feel well, very well, because I have come to a decision.^' 
When dinner was over, she challenged him for a walk on 
the terrace around the roof of the house. When they had 
reached this elevated site, she advanced to the front of the 
balustrade, and stretching one hand out towards the magnifi- 
cent prospect, she said, 

Look, Hugh ! Saw you ever a fairer scene V* 

It is indeed a sublime and beautiful prospect.^^ 

And has it no more interest than that ? Listen, Hugh. 
All these waving forests and rolling hills and plains, all these 
fields and barns and granaries, all these orchards, vineyards 
and gardens, these terraces, with their statues, fountains and 
conservatories, this mansion-house, with its stately chambers, 
halls, and saloons — is ours — is our beautiful, our superb home, 
if you will take it — when you take me,’/ she said, turning to 
him. 

Nettie, when Satan wished to tempt Christ, he took Him 
up into a very high mountain, and showed Him the kingdoms 
of the earth and the glory thereof, and said, ‘ All these will L 
give Thee, if Thou wilt fall down and worship me.’ ” 

^^Upon my soul I thank you for the parallel you have chos- 
en to run between me and Satan !” exclaimed Miss Seabright, 
with a burning cheek. 

You misconstrue me, dearest G-arnet. You do not tempt 
me. I am not tempted. It is the Christ in you — the angel 
in you — the good in you that is tempted by Ambition.” 

Hugh ! Hugh ! It is not for myself now so much as for 
you that I am ambitious. With the power this fortune woul i 


THE STRUGGLE. 


371 


give, when joined to. your talents, you could become so dis- 
tinguished/' 

Again, Garnet. When Satan tempted Christ, it was not 
through any puerile idea, but through the grandest passion of 
the human soul — the passion by which the great Archangel fell 
— Ambition. But, I tell you. Garnet, that if ambition be 
the most glorious of human passions, remorse is the most ter- 
rible. And, too often, one follows the other as surely as night 
follows day." 

She did not reply, and both remained silent for a few mi- 
nutes, when, taking her hand, he said, impressively, 

“ Do not think me ungrateful, dearest Garnet. Very deep- 
ly do I feel the blessing of your sweet love, very highly do I 
estimate the honour of your ambition for me. But listen, 
dearest. In erecting your edifice of earthly happiness, it would 
be well to lay the basement sure. You might possess and in- 
habit a princely palace, luxuriously furnished, yet you would 
not glory in its splendour, or even enjoy a moment's repose un- 
der its roof, if you knew its foundation to he insecure — that 
at any instant in the midst of enjoyment, it might suddenly 
fall and crash you under its magnificent ruins. Garnet, such 
an insecure dwelling-place, such a transient phantasmagoria, 
is any plan of earthly happiness not based upon the principles 
of justice. Such, Garnet, is your edifice of enjoyment, — for 
you will feel that Death, which hangs over us all at all times, 
may at any moment summon you from its possession to place 
you at the bar of Eternal Justice, to answer for the sin of your 
soul. And your ill-gotten splendours here will be your con- 
demnation hereafter. Oh, believe me, dear Garnet, to say 
nothing of the sublime beauty of faith displayed in the sacri- 
fice of earthly interests to Heavenly prospects — of temporal 
pleasures to eternal joys — there is great good sense in seeking 
^ first the Kingdom of God, and His righteousness for, look 
you, I may gain wealth and renown, but if my fortune is ill- 
gotten, I cannot fully enjoy it, for knowing that at any time 
my soul may be snatched from its possessions to the Bar of 
God, and stained with falsehood and injustice as it is, be hurled 
thence to perdition. But, m the other hand, if my fortune 
is founded upon righteousness, and built up with the blessing 
of God, then I may be as rich and as great as I please, and 
yet enjoy this world with a surer joy, for knowing that it leads 


872 THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 

to a better and an eternal one. Life, dear ilarnet, is a journey 
to the Judgment Seat. In all your plans, therefore, of life\s 
journey, look to its end. If you set out upon a road that 
you knew was leading you to misery — no matter how fine the 
carriage in which you travelled, how soft the cushions on 
which you sat, how beautiful the country through which you 
passed — ^you could not enjoy it, for every mile that should 
draw you nearer to its close would increase your uneasiness, 
for you would know its end to be misery. Such a journey, 
dear Garnet, will be your life, if you set out upon it with ill- 
gotten riches. Now, look on the other side of the question. 
If you should start upon a journey that you know will bring 
you finally to a haven of rest and honour — no matter how com- 
mon your vehicle, how rough your road, how ordinary the 
landscape, how full of unpleasant accidents — you will endure 
it, and at every stage with more cheerfulness, for knowing 
that it brings you nearer to its end, and that its end is repose 
and happiness. And^ if your journey should be pleasant, its 
very pleasures will be enhanced by the knowledge that its goal 
is rest, honour, and joy. Such a journey will our lives be, 
dearest love. You will resign this estate. \Ye will marry, 
and feeling the smile and blessing of God upon us, we will go 
forth strongly and hopefully, and labour for our living. We 
shall have some early struggles, but God will be with us. 
He will bless our sacrifice, and we shall finally prosper. And 
while weeks are slipping into months, and months gliding into 
years, we shall really enjoy the very making of a fortune, taste 
prosperity piecemeal, and get the good of every morsel. Every 
little comfort that we may be able to add to our daily domestic 
life will be relished the more that we have felt the want of it, 
and blessed the more that it has come to us from God. And 
for our future years, I hope highly, but may not prophesy. 
They arc in the hands of God,'^ he said, raising his hat with 
profound reverence. Then his tone changing to one of deep 
tenderness, he stretched forth his arms,) and said : Come, 
Nettie ! Come, my darling wife. You will give up all this 
ill-starred wealth, and trust in God to restore you an hundred 
fold.’’ 

Pale and drooping with excess of feeling, she sank upon his 
bosom, murmuring, 


THE STRUGGLE. 


378 

Oh, God bless you, Hugh ! Large and full heart, God 
bless you ! Where could I find my life but in you ? But, 
oh, dear Hugh, do not be a martyr at this rational age of the 
world ! Take my fortune with me.” 

Never, Nettie ! Never, so strengthen me Heaven ! When 
I take you I will take no sin with you.” 

She started, burst from his embrace, and broke forth with 
passionate vehemence ; 

Silence ! I will not hear you. I will never give up 
my privileges. I will not be a fanatic to please you. Oh ! 
look at me, Hugh ; and do not think I speak from vanity, but 
from a war of confiicting passions, that rends my soul in 
twain. Do I look like one to be condemned to poverty, and 
privation, and domestic toil, and drudgery? I will speak 
out, though, in your eyes, I convict myself of vanity and 
presumption. You never called me beautiful in words, but 
yon have said so with your eyes a thousand times. Oh, 
Hugh, I valued my beauty as I did my wealth, for your sake. 
But should I be beautiful in poverty? You know that 1 
know what poverty is! Look at my hair, Hugh. Yesterday 
you took the whole mass up in your hand and looked at it as 
at a treasure, so proudly; then you singled out a ringlet and 
examined it as a strange beauty, so curiously. Now look at 
the ringlets again. Do you think it requires no care to keep 
them so soft and glossy, and in such full curl ? Why a rose- 
bush will not bloom in full glory unless it is cared for and 
tended ; neither will my beauty. Hugh, I do not know why 
I may not venture to speak before you what I dare to think 
before God. I know that my soul’s habitation is beautiful ; 
and it seems to me fit that it should be so, and that its beauty 
should be enhanced by rich drapery, and preserved from all 
uses. How could that be done in bitter poverty?” 

Garnet,” he answered, solemnly, the soul is greater than 
its temple. Would you preserve the temple sacred from all 
uses, yet degrade the greater Deity within it? Would you 
preserve the delicacy of your beauty, and clothe your form in 
gorgeous apparel, by an action that would stain your soul with 
foul dishonesty ?” 

Don’t talk to me any more. You will drive me frantic, 
DiSHorESTY ! that is the low vice of ignorant and debased 


874 


TUP DISCARDED DAUOIITER. 


natures, for which they are sometimes sent to the state^a 
prison/^ . 

“And yet which is more excusable ^in ignorant and de 
based natures,^ than in intelligent and exalted ones/' said he, 
sternly. 

“ Dishonesty ! What have I to do with that ? This estate 
is legally mine. To keep it is not even injustice. Why do 
you talk to me so she exclaimed, tearing at her bosom, as she 
wildly walked up and down the terrace, as if to pluck away 
the burning pain there. “Why do you torture — exasperate — 
madden me so 

“ It is not I, G-arnet. No mere \?'ords that I could speak 
could disturb your bosom's peace. It is the awful conscience 
there that refuses to be silent," said Hugh, solemnly. 

She paused before him, trembling all over ; clenching her 
chest with her spread hands, as though to clutch the passion 
there ; her eyes burning in their intense lurid fire, in fearful 
contrast with the ghastly paleness of her brow and cheeks, 
and gasped between her white lips, 

“You are an incendiary; sent here to convulse my soul 
with war, until Reason herself is hurled from her throne I 
Man ! Man ! You know what civil war in a nation is. Dc 
you know — can you guess what the internal conflict of a 
divided soul is ? No, you do not. Tour well balanced mind, 
like a well governed state, is always quiet. But mine? Oh, 
you have raised an insurrection in my soul that can never, 
never be suppressed ! Oh, man ! man ! it is a grievous wrong 
that you have done me. I was so highly happy in my glorious 
h'^pes and prospects, until you came. You have killed all my 
joy. But do not think," she exclaimed, with another violent 
outburst of passion, “ do not think that you have succeeded. 
Do not ! Never suppose that to please your fanaticism, I will 
give up my estate ; never ! never ! never !" 

“No, Grarnet. Not to please my fanaticism, as you call it, 
will you do so, but in obedience to your awakened and aroused 
conscience, will you do so." 

“ What! Never ! What ! resign all my great plans of use- 
fulness, of benevolence, of wide philanthropy? Renounce 
all my glorious prospects of worldly honour — perhaps renown ? 
Man I do you knaio what you ask of me ? They are worth my 


THE STRUGGLE. 


375 

soul’s price. Grive up my fortune ! Do you know its amount? 
Why, my income is almost a queen’s revenue. Do you hnmjo^ 
as I do, with what power it clothes me ?” 

“ I know the vast amount and great power of your wealth, 
Garnet. And I know the great good that you, with your 
wonderful beauty, talent, and enterprise, could do with it ; the 
great distinction you could gain by it. I know your pride, 
your ambition, your burning aspiration after worldly glory, 
and I feel the stupendous force of the temptation that is upon 
you.” 

“ I tell you, my power, my plans and prospects, are worth 
almost my soul’s price !” she exclaimed, vehemently. 

^ Almost,’ not quite. There is a surplus value and weight 
about the soul that will weigh down the scale, and toss the 
fortune up.” 

Never, I tell you. Never !” she repeated passionately. 

Doctor Hutton regarded her fixedly for some moments, then 
he asked, coldly, 

^^And this, then, is your final decision. Miss Seabright?” 

Yes j please Heaven it is.” 

But it will not please Heaven, Miss Seabright. I only 
waited for your decision. I have it, and I shall leave here 
to-morrow. Had your conclusion been otherwise — but no 
more of that. And now,” said he, sternly, listen to me! 
You will go forth into the world. Your wondrous beauty, 
genius, and your riches, will draw around you the mighty in 
intellect, wealth, and position. Yet, queen of that court as 
you will be, you will take no joy on your throne ; you will 
know you have usurped the seat of another. Your graces of 
mind and of person will be the theme of every tongue, yet 
you will know that they clothe a soul spotted with dishonesty. 
Your extensive philanthropy will be the admiration of sages 
and statesmen, yet their praises will reproach you with the 
thought that your munificence is at the expense of another. 
Your benevolence will be the sustaining hope and comfort of 
all the poor and wretched around you, yet their very blessings 
will curse you with the thought that you have relieved them 
with means falsely taken and falsely kept from a widow 
You will dwell in lordly mansions, yet their magnificence will 
oppress you with the consciousness that they belong in justice 


876 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER: 


to another. You will be arrayed in costly garments, yet you 
will be scarcely able to bear the glare of their splendour, for 
you will know they cover a woman degraded from her pristine 
nobility by base ambition, and stained with foul injustice. 
You will be adorned with priceless gems, yet the diamond 
tiara on your brow will burn and sear your brain like a dia- 
dem of flame; the diamond necklace on your bosom will 
scorch and eat into your heart like a circlet of flre.^^ 

Hugh ! Hugh ! spare me ! I tell you you will drive me 
mad I” she cried, clasping her temples. 

At last you will cap the climax of your hopes by marry 
mg some grand magnate of the land, yet you will bear within 
your bosom all the while, a false, a widowed, and a lonely 
heart, for you will know that your husband is not your true 
mate ; for you will know — ^you do know, oh, Grarnet ! — you 
feel by all the instincts of your nature thatit was to this — 
this bosom, that God wedded you from the flrst he said, 
dropping his voice to a gentle tone, and drawing her towards 
him. 

She dropped her face upon his shoulder, and wept and 
sobbed as if her heart would break. Such convulsions of 
sobs ; such a deluge of tears. Gasping all the while — 

Oh, Ido! I know it, Hugh. Then why will you cast 
me from you because I happen to be burdened with a fortune ? 
Is not that a strange new reason for leaving the girl that 
you love V’ 

Garnet ! darling Nettie \” said Hugh, tenderly; ^^if you 
were suddenly bereft of your enchanting beauty, niy love 
would be strong enough to bear the change ; for the heart and 
soul that I loved most would live for me unaltered. But 
smirch not the fairness of your soul. Garnet, for I will not 
wed moral deformity.^^ 

<‘This is weakness! This is miserable drivelling ex- 
claimed Miss Seabright, starting from her resting-place upon 
his bosom, and dashing the tears from her flashing eyes. 
am no mendicant for your love, sir. No 1 nor will I purchase 
it at too high a price, either V’ she added, bitterly, throwing 
off his deprecating hand, and hurrying from him into the 
house. 

Hugh ’ooked after her in deep thought ; then said to him- 

8elf| 


THE STRUGGLE. 


877 


The flow and ebb of ocean’s tide is nothing to the waving 
forth and hack of her mind in its present phase. How 
strong — how terrible is the death-agony of her ambition ! If 
the contest were simply between ambition and love, ambition 
would triumph in a high, proud nature like hers ; but justice 
sides with love, and together they are invincible. I would 
the battle were over, though.” 

He did not see her again during the day. She did not ap- 
pear even at the supper-table. 

I have no time to tell you how Garnet Seabright spent that 
night, how the battle in her soul was fought and won. I have 
only time left for results. 

In the gray of the morning Hugh Hutton came down stairs, 
booted, great-coated, and laden with his saddle-bags^ pre 
paratory to mounting his horse, to set forth on his journey. 
He found Garnet Seabright in the great hall, apparently 
waiting for him. She stood at the foot of the stairs and 
leaned for support against the balustrades. She was looking 
very haggard as from loss of rest and anxiety ; yes, through 
all the physical weariness, there radiated the light of a calm 
joy. He lifted his hat and bowed, intending to pass her, 
when she raised her hand, and by an adjuring gesture stayed 
him, murmuring very low ‘ 

Doctor Hutton, was it really your intention to leave me 
this morning ?” 

It was. Miss Seabright,” he replied, in a deep constrained 
voice. 

^ It was,’ and is it ?” she added in a low tone, gently 
moving from her position. 

It was, and is! Miss Seabright, unless you give me the 
only good reason for staying.” 

She advanced towards him slowly, slowly, with averted 
face and deeply blushing cheek, laid both her hands in both 
• of his, and murmured almost timidly. 

Stay then. Doctor Hutton, I give up the estate.” 

Hugh Hutton dropped his saddle-bags, drew her to hia 
bosom and pressed her there, but spoke no word as yet. 

^^Yes, take me. Doctor Hutton! I am not worth much, 
bereft of all my glory, shorn,” she smiled faintly, quite shorn 
of all my beams but such as I am, you may have me. Doctor 


878 THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 

Hutton/^ she murmured, dropping her head on his shoulder. 
Then as he strained her to his bosom, the passion-fraught 
heart of the man found expression for its fullness of emotion 
in one great heart-word,^ ^ 

Wife!” 

Yes, your wife,^^ she whispered very softly, hiding her 
glowing face on his bosom. Your wife ! no more nor less 
than simply that cheerful toiler by your side. I thought to 
have conferred wealth on you ! It was a proud, presuming 
thought — it is past now.^^ 

My wife ! mv wife ! you have ! you do — ejaculated 
Hugh Hutton, with his full heart gushing in every tone, until 
it choked his utterance, and he stopped. 

Through all their painful struggle,Nie had not broken 
down until now — and now — but she was talking again, mur- 
muring in her sweet deep tones again, and he bent to listen, 
to hear her whisper. 

Oh Hugh ! such a night as I have passed ; such resist- 
ance of the demon, before he would flee from me. But the 
war is over now, quite over ! The estate, the projects are all 
resigned, and not regretted — for oh ! Hugh, where could I 
find such richness and fullness of life and joy as’^ — her low 
voice died away with her breath along his cheek and chestnut 
hair. But it was Grarnet’s nature or her present mood to 
pour forth the fullness of her heart in words. She spoke 
again : Oh Hugh ! I am so glad, so comforted and strength- 
ened, BO proud of you, that you did not yield one jot or tittle 
of the right, even for my love. Oh Hugh ! Oh Hugh ! my 
guide and guard ! be always, good, and great, and strong ; that 
I may have full life and joy in loving you. And when you 
have drawn your Nettie ujp to your own high moral level, so 
are you higher stilly that, though rising herself, she may see 
you ever above her, and honour you as now ! as now V’ 

Oh (jrod, have I deserved this exclaimed Hugh Hutton, 
raising his eyes in grateful adoration an instant, and then 
bending them with unutterable love on Grarnet, as he ejacu- 
lated in earnest, fervent, broken language, “ Nettie ! Nettie ! 
not Heaven, not Heaven could give me a higher incentive to 
high resolve, than it has given me in your faith — ^in your 
faith r' 


THE STRUGGLE. 


379 


He pressed his lips to hers, and from that first burning 
kiss, the tide of eloquence found way. He snatched her up 
in his arms, hurried into the parlour, set her in a chair, sank 
down by her side, and folding his arms adoringly around her 
form, poured forth, in words of fire, the long-pent great 
passion of his heart 


880 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


OB AFTER XLV. 

Elsie's fortunes. 

You shall b« blessed as once you were with friends, and home, and all 
That in the exulting joy of love your own you fondly call ; 

Beloved and loving faces that you’ve known so long and well; 

The dear familiar places where your childish footsteps fell. 

It was Saturday night, and Doctor Hardcastle had not yet 
returned home to supper. The family, except Elsie, had all 
retired to bed. Elsie had had a very fatiguing day, as most 
industrious housekeepers must have in bringing the week's 
work to a conclusion. Elsie's work, however, was not done 
yet, though the clock was on the stroke of nine, for having 
gotten through with all the heavy household labour, cleared 
up the supper-table, put the children to bed, and persuaded 
her mother to retire to rest, she set the coffee-pot and a covered 
plate and dish to keep hot for Magnus, replenished the fire, 
drew a little table up before it, and sat down with a large 
basket of stockings to darn — a couple of dozen of little hose 
and half a dozen pair of large ones — all to be looked over, and 
half to be mended. And Elsie, with her usually happy alchemy 
‘ of turning everything into a subject of congratulation, said to 
herself that it was very fortunate she had so many stockings 
to darn, as it made the time pass so much quicker while wait- 
ing for Magnus. Yet, Elsie was very weary ; very well pre- 
pared to appreciate the blessings of the Sabbath that makes 
cessation from work a positive duty. Yes, she was very weary, 


ELSIE'S FORTUNES. 


381 

though the only signs of fatigue she showed were in the deeper 
flush of her cheek, the brighter light of her eyes, and the clam- 
my moisture of her fair forehead that half uncurled the golden 
ringlets. The last little stocking was drawn upon her hand, 
and the bright needle swiftly gliding in and out among the 
meshes of the last rent, when the quick gallop of a horse into 
the yard, apprised her that her husband had come, and in an 
instant more the door was thrown open, and Doctor Hardcastle 
entered. Elsie was about to rise and receive him, when 
something strange and novel in his air and manner arrested 
her attention, as he said. 

No, do not stir ! Sit still, dear Elsie I I want to look at 
you just as you are a moment He threw off his great coat, 
drew a chair to her side, seated himself by her, and gazed at 
her for the space of half a minute. Then he took her hand 
into his palm, pressed it, and opening his hand, watched the 
rosy tide ebb and flow through her still beautiful fingers. 
‘^Elsie,^^ said he, ^^how long have we been married, deai 
wife 

Eleven years and more,” replied she, looking up, in- 
quiringly. 

^^Do you remember, dear. Judge Wylie^s ball given in 
-lonour of your return from school ? Do you remember that 
we had just heard of my changed prospects, and that we knew 
if we should marry we would have to go forth to a life of toil 
and self-denial — and do you remember that I took this hand 
into mine with fear and trembling for its destiny as it lay in 
my broad, brown palm, a tiny snow-white thing, sparkling 
with diamonds like icicles on snow, a fairy hand — an ideal 
hand 

Yes ; I remember you talked a great deal of poetry about 
my hand, dear Magnus — and I remember that seeing you 
loved its beauty so much, I made a rash promise to keep it 
always beautiful for your sake. I could not do it, dear Mag- 
nus. It is not so fair and elegant now as it was then,” said 
Elsie, smiling, and holding it up. 

But, oh ! how much dearer ! how much more beloved ! 
Then it was an ideal hand — now it is a human hand, a mo- 
therV hand,” he said, taking it again and pressing it to his 
lips and bosom, and gazing fondly on her. Then, after a lit- 
tle, he spoke again, saying, Elsie ! dearest, there was 
24 


382 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


other promise which you made, hut in my name^ and which I 
tacitly endorsed, yet haye failed to perform/' 

Well, dear Magnus?'* 

“ Do you remember the dress you wore upon the memorable 
occasion of that ball ? / do perfectly. I do not know the ma- 
terial of which it was made, but it floated around you as you 
moved — a soft and radiant mist. And when I spoke of it be- 
moaning the fate that would change it for a plain garb such as 
befitted a poor young doctor’s wife — you smiled hopefully, an i 
promised that in ten years, when I should have ^achieved 
greatness,’ you would wear a much richer dress, which should 
still befit my station — and I endorsed the promise ; yet ten 
years have passed, and I have failed to redeem it. My 
Elsie still wears coarse clothing, and works from morning till 
night.” 

Your Elsie is happy, dearest Magnus. And the Princess 
Charlotte herself, the idol lady of all England, could not say 
any more. Young people, especially where youth is bright- 
ened by such sanguine blood as mine, have too many extrava- 
gant hopes — make too many rash promises. I say again, 
your Elsie is happy, dear Magnus, and if she had the world 
she could not say more.” 

He gazed on her in fond admiration for a little while, 'and 
then said, 

Elsie, dearest, there is one thing at least in which we did 
not promise or expect too much — in which we have not failed 
to keep our promise — to love each other more and more every 
year we should live.” 

She raised her eyes to his, and he read her answer in their 
loving glance. 

Well, Elsie,” he said, at last, ^^you are happy; yet it is 
not now the hope of better days to come, that makes you hap- 
py — for more than ten years have passed, and I have not laid 
by a thousand dollars. So you can scarcely expect now that I 
shall ever make a fortune by my profession.” 

^^Well, we makQ a comfortable living, and shall continue 
to do so ; and as for our dear children, we must educate them 
to work, as we have done. Let me give you your supper now, 
Magnus.” 

‘‘No — not just yot,” he said, smiling on her hand and 
pressing it. \ 


ELSIE’S FOBTUNES. 883 

Well, then, let go my hand a minute, till I finish darning 
little Elite’s stocl^ing.” 

! no more work to-night, Elsie,” he said, firmly. 

Oh ! just let me finish this last stocking, it completes the 
whole job.” 

“No! no more work to-night I No more work evermore 
for you. The long, long trial you have borne so patiently, so 
nobly, is over. Elsie ! dearest Elsie 1 Fortune has come to 
us at last.” 

Elsie stared at her husband with a look so blank, that you 
could not have told whether she had heard good or bad news — 
an instant, and then a sudden joy broke over her countenance, 
and she exclaimed, in a voice of wonder and gladness, 

“ Fortune ! You tell me so, Magnus, and it must bo true.” 

“ Yes, fortune — yet it has come to us through such solemn, 
not to say tragic circumstances, that our prosperity must be 
received with a chastened spirit. Listen, dearest Elsie— this 
evening, as I returned home, I called at the post-office and 
found a letter from Reynolds, who used to do all my Uncle 
Hardcastle’s law business. By his letter, I learned that about 
five weeks since, my unhappy cousin, Lionel, who had just re- 
turned from making the tour of Europe with his ward, was 
instantly killed on Hutton’s Island, by the accidental dis- 
charge of a pistol. My uncle never recovered the shock of his 
death, and he sank gradually until about five days since, when 
he died — ^leaving me sole heir to all his property, and executor 
of his will.” 

“ Alas 1 Magnus, is it not a sad and grave thought, that no 
property which we do not make by our own toil, ever comes 
to us except through the death or the misfortunes of others I 
Alas 1 Magnus, our prosperity should indeed be received with 
a very chastened spirit.” 

“Yes, sudden riches should be always received with fear 
and trembling ; and when they come by sudden death — with 
awe !” 

Elsie looked down thoughtfully upon her clasped hands, and 
then after a little while inquired, 

“ Well, Magnus ! what will be your first movement under 
these new circumstances ?” 

“ I shall proceed at once to Hemlock Hollow to settU 
affairs, and prepare the old hall for the reception of you <.dd 


S84 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


the children. And hj the time those arrangements are com. 
pleted, the weather will be sufficiently settled to remove them. 
The only point of difficulty is in the temporary disposition of 
my professional business. I scarcely know what to do with 
my patients. I wish IJugh would return and take charge of 
the practice for a few weeks during my absence, or until the 
people could get another physician to settle among them.^^ 

It is quite time that we had heard from Hugh. But, 
dear Magnus, has this sudden news quite deprived you of 
your appetite said Elsie, rising and putting away her basket 
of work. 

No — oh, no, dearest ! Give me my supper.^^ 

Elsie’s nimble hands quickly laid the cloth, and spread the 
little supper. Magnus drew up his chair, and Elsie had just 
poured out his coffee, when the quick gallop of a horse up to 
the house, followed by a loud knocking at the door, arrested 
their attention. Magnus went to answer the summons, and in 
another instant Hugh Hutton entered. Why, Hugh !” ex- 
claimed Hr. Hardcastle and his wife in one breath. 

Come in ! Come in ! We are so glad to see you ! But where 
on earth did you come from ? how did you come ? You did 
not come by the stage this afternoon, for I was at the stage 
office myself when it came in,” said Doctor Hardcastle. 

^‘No; I missed the coach at the last station, and had to 
hire a horse to bring me hither. But how do you all do ?” 
said Hugh, shaking hands with both. 

Well, very well! But you, Hugh, how is it with you?” 
asked Doctor Hardcastle, glancing at his black suit. 

I may reply in your own words — ‘ well, very well I’ You 
got my letter ?” 

Yes.” 

Well, friends — it was a bitter blow to me — but I believe 
now, it was dealt in mercy to her. - You have heard from 
Hemlock Hollow ?” 

Yes — but only this evening.” 

“ And what do you intend to do 

To go on there immediately and prepare for the removal 
of my family as soon as the weather permits. But, come, 
Hugh — come, here is supper. See, Elsie has already set your 
plate and knife and fork, and poured out your coffee.” 


ELSIE’S FORTUNES. 385 

/ 

T have not ! Draw np/^ 

The conversation at supper turned upon the affairs of Hem- 
lock Hollow, Point Pleasant, Huttontown and its neighbour- 
hood. Yet there was a studious avoidance of the subject of 
Mount Calm and G-arnet Seabright, until the cloth was re- 
moved, and Doctor Hardcastle arose with the evident intention 
of showing his guest to his chamber. 

Then Hugh made a sign to his host to take his seat, and 
resumed his own, saying — Well, my dear friends, you have 
inquired after everybody in our old neighbourhood except my 
fair young hostess. Miss Seabright, of Mount Calm ; and yet 
one would think that she would interest you more than all.^^ 

Hugh paused for a reply, and looked at them both. Elsie’s 
brow crimsoned, and she turned away. Doctor Hardcastle 
looked very grave, and remained silent. 

“ If you knew Miss Seabright personally, you would admiro 
her very much. She is the most superbly beautiful woman I 
ever saw — of the brunette order, I mean,” he added, bowing 
and smiling towards Mrs. Hardcastle, who averted her face 
with a heightened colour. ^^Yes, she is certainly the most 
splendidly beautiful brunette I ever saw — and with a soul, too, 
more beautiful than its shrine.” 

Still Elsie averted her head, and Doctor Hardcastle con- 
tfinued gravely silent. 

You do not answer me,” said Hugh, perseveringly. 

^‘Hugh, my dear boy, Elsie and myself love and admire 
you sufficiently. Do not insist upon our loving and admiring 
your friend. Miss Seabright. Under all the circumstances it 
is too great a task for human nature.” 

“ Yet,” said Hugh — and his voice faltered, and the tears 
swam in his eves — yet last week I was the instrument in the 
hands of Providence in setting a far greater task than that to 
human nature, sir ! And not to nature, well-disciplined hu- 
man nature like yours, but to young, ardent, impetuous human 
nature — and I saw, through tears and groans, and writhings 
of the spirit, that task accomplished. What should you think 
of a young girl endowed with great wealth, peerless beauty, 
graces, and accomplishments — fitted in every way to adorn the 
highest circles of society — a girl, besides, of high self-appre- 
ciation — of great ambition — of adventurous enterprise — whose 
head and heart w^re busy with a hundred grand and glorious 


386 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


plans of life — what, I ask you, should you think of such a 
girl, in such circumstances, giving up her wealth, her rank, 
her splendid plans and prospects, her soul’s most cherished 
expectations and desires for the sake of simple, abstract jus- 
tice 

I should think that such a noble girl was worthy of a 
king’s worship, or rather of a hero’s love. But it is impossi- 
ble ! no girl would ever do this,” said Doctor Hardcastle, 
turning and gazing at Hugh with wonder. 

Will you please to look ovor these documents,” said Hugh, 
drawing a packet of papers from his great-coat pocket, and 
laying them on the table. 

The title deeds of Mount Calm, and legally conveyed to 
Alice Chester Harnet by Carnet Seabright !” exclaimed Doc- 
tor Hardcastle, examining them. Then he laid the documents 
down, squared himself round, placed his hands upon his knees, 
and staring full into the face of Hugh, said, Hugh ! What 

the d , I never swore in my life I Don’t make me begin 

now ! But what the deuce does all this mean ?” 

You see what it means. Miss Seabright, having come of 
age. and feeling that she has no just right to the Mount Calm 
estate, conveys it to its rightful owner, Mrs. Carnet !” 

Elsie suddenly clasped her hands, and bent forward with 
flushed cheeks and open lips. 

Doctor Hardcastle continued his fixed, broad stare, until 
Hugh exclaimed, 

“ Cod bless all our souls, Magnus Hardcastle, you are not 
the only noble specimen of Cod’s workmanship on earth. 
There are others capable of magnanimity besides ^Magnus’— 
even the young girl, Carnet Seabright !” 

Garneil she is a diamond of the first water. Is it pos- 
sible that this should be so ? I can scarcely credit the testi- 
mony of my eyes and ears ! That Miss Seabright, as soon as 
she reached her majority, should have given up her estate. 
Oh ! it must have been a mere impulse of youthful enthusiasm. 
She could not have known the value of money and property — 
and besides, you must have used great powers of persuasion 
with her.” 

^ No — you are wrong in every point. It was not enthu- 
siasm — all her enthusiasm was enlisted on the other side, in 
favour of social distinction, for '^^hich she considered wealth 


ELSIE’S FORTUNES. 


B87 


indispensable. Nor was she ignorant of the value of money; 
no, enlightened by experiences in the extremes of — first, 
poverty, and afterwards, wealth — this girl of twenty-one had 
as accurate a knowledge of the value of money and property 
as any miser, beggar, or banker of forty-two. Nor was it 
without a struggle she resigned the estate. Most terrible in- 
deed was the battle in her soul before Justice subdued Ambi- 
tion. Nor was it through my persuasion that she made this 
glorious sacrifice to right. No — no mere words of mine could 
have subdued that towering pride — governed that aspiring 
ambition. No; I simply set the truth before her, and let it 
work its way. No ; I set the truth before her, and then 1 
might have gone to Patagonia or Bhering’s Straits, and the 
result would have been the same. She would never have 
known an hour’s peace until she had restored the property, at 
whatever sacrifice to her pride and ambition.’’ 

Here Elsie broke forth, exclaiming. 

Oh ! what a noble girl ! Oh ! I love and admire her so 
much. I do think if I were in mother’s place now, I should 
be Quixotic enough to convey the whole estate back again to 
her. At least, I know I would make her take back half of it. 
My heart burns towards that noble girl, and I feel half ashamed 
that we should benefit by her magnanimity. I feel as if by 
her giving and our receiving so much, that she is more noble 
than we are.” 

Yes, yes ! she is indeed a noble, a wonderful girl,” ex- 
claimed Doctor Hardcastle. 

And this noble, this wonderful girl,” said Hugh, with his 
cheeks and eyes kindling with pride and joy — ^Hhis glorious 
girl is going to be my wife ! Congratulate me, dear friends !” 
he suddenly exclaimed, impulsively thrusting out a hand to 
each. 

“Going to be your wife? I am so glad,” exclaimed Elsie, 
pressing his left hand. 

“ Going to be your wife ? Why then, dear Hugh, this great 
sacrifice is fully as much yours as hers — since what was hers 
would have been yours,” said Doctor Hardcastle, shaking his 
right hand. 

“ Never mind that; only, wish me joy !” 

“We do! we do ! with all our hearts,” mid Elsie, clasp' 


888 


■^THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


ing his hand again. But when are you going to be mar- 
ried, Hugh V* 

“ Next Thursday four weeks. Having deprived Nettie of 
all her wealth, I must take her as soon as possible under my 
legal protection, unsettled as I am, and trust Grod with the re- 
sult. Yes, next Thursday four weeks; that will give you 
time to prepare to come to Mount Calm, which, having been 
just handsomely fitted up for the reception of Miss Seabright, 
on her return from Europe, is in a proper condition to receive 
your family. Miss Seabright will remain at Mount Calm until 
our marriage, which will take place there. We wish you 
to arrive at or before our wedding day, that when we leave the 
mansion house, we may leave you in possession.” 

Hugh, we are not, of course, authorized to promise any- 
thing in the name of Mrs. Garnet, who is at this moment 
ignorant of Miss Seabright^ s magnanimity ; but — I would she 
were here to answer for herself.” 

Here the clock struck twelve, and Doctor Hardcastle, light* 
ing another candle, said. 

Friends, it is Sunday morning. , Let us waive the discus- 
sion of worldly matters for to-day. Hugh, you know your 
chamber. Good-night 1” 


f HE SECRET REVEALED. 


3S9 


CHAPTER XLVI. 

THE SECRET REVEALED. 

And in her lineaments they trace 

Some features of her father’s face. — Byron. 

In the mean time, Miss Seabright was preparing to resign 
her state. Fey can estimate the terrible trial it was to this 
just, but ambitious girl, to abdicate her elevated, social posi- 
tion, and step down upon the common level, to labour with 
the common herd. You have already seen how, in the fearful 
struggle which had ensued — in that dread bosom-tempest — all 
the latent selfishness which marred that noble nature, was 
thrown up and exposed upon the crests of the tossing waves 
of passion. But if, in this soul-storm, her hidden evil was 
cast up to view, it was also cast off. And then when the 
waves of her heart subsided, and the clouds on her brain dis- 
persed, and the sun of right shone out clear and bright, 
illuminating her soul, and revealing her to herself — then she 
saw that there was something in her own nature greater than 
all her adventitious surroundings. Now she would not have 
said to Hugh what she had said before, I am not much, 
shorn of my beams.^^ No, indeed, there was consolidating in 
her heart, a noble, steadfast self-appreciation, that would no 
more falsify itself by factitious humility, than degrade itself 
by unjust action. And having once made the sacrifice, and 


390 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


turned her back upon the splendours of her past fortune, there 
was no regret, no looking back, like Lot’s wife ; her face was 
set to her forward path — her strong, impetuous soul already 
rushing on to realize her future of loving and hopeful toil with 
Hugh for her companion and guide. With Hugh ! How, at 
the recurring of his very name, the tide of emotion, like the 
rushing of a mighty river, would roll over her, overwhelming 
and confusing her soul with a sort of lost, delirious joy ! With- 
in this month of sacrifice, how much stronger and more con- 
centrated had become her love for Hugh ! And if the J udge 
of all hearts had demanded a reason for the mighty love that 
was in her, she would have been constrained to answer, It is 
his moral integrity that has mastered my heart. It is his 
moral integrity that would not waver, for love or for ambi- 
tion — those two mightiest passions of the human soul. I 
loved him before — I loved him well enough to have given him 
myself and all my wealth, but when I found in him a moral 
rectitude that would not bend for love of me, or hope of gran- 
deur, I was drawn up to adore him. Yes, that is why I would 
rather follow him barefoot over all the earth, if necessary, and 
serve him as the Indian woman serves her lord, than be my- 
self the object of worship to all the world.” 

Yes, there was a man to love through life and unto death; 
there was a man to repose upon in all weakness, to confide in 
in all emergencies; whom the combined power of love and 
ambition, beauty, wealth, and the usages of society that would 
have justified him, could never move from his uprightness. 
Th ‘ro was a pillar of strength to cling to in a storm. It was 
with as much highborn pride and joy as love, that Grarnet 
thought of her betrothed. 

The month and her preparations drew near their close. 
She WHS daily expecting to hear of the arrival of the family 
of Doctor Hardcastle at Hemlock Hollow. Doctor Hutton, 
who had not yet returned, was to come with them. She was 
looking for them by every stage, and hourly she added some 
new attraction to the preparations she was making to receive 
them. The ancients were accustomed to adorn a sacrifice 
before offering it up, and the same instinct impelled Miss Sea- 
bright daily to walk through her halls and chambers, design- 
ing, with her artistic taste, new improvements and embellish- 
ments for the palace home she was about to resign. 


THE SECRET REVEALED. 


S91 


The wedding-day arrived. It was a bright and beautiful 
day in May. Upon the evening previous, Doctor Hardcastle, 
with his family, had arrived at Hemlock Hollow. Therefore 
there had been no time or opportunity for a meeting between 
them and Miss Seabright, previous to the marriage-day. 
Doctor Hutton was a guest at the Hollow, and a note from 
him to Miss Seabright, informed her that they would all be at 
Mount Calm at an early hour of the morning. Owing to the 
rather recent deaths in the family, and the peculiarity of the 
circumstances, it had been arranged that the marriage cere- 
mony should be performed quietly at eight o^clock in the 
morning, in the saloon of Mount Calm, in the presence of few 
witnesses, and that immediately after the ceremony and break- 
fast, the young couple should depart to seek their Western 
home, leaving Mrs. Carnet in possession of the mansion house 
and the estate. The only guests invited were the Hardcastles, 
with Mrs. Garnet, Judge Wylie and Miss Wylie, and their 
old friend, the Reverend Mr. Wilson, with his wife and young 
sister. The marriage ceremony was to be performed after the 
Episcopal ritual, by the recently installed pastor of the New 
Church. 

At seven o^ clock in the morning, therefore, the few privi- 
leged friends — with the exception of the Hardcastles, who 
had not yet arrived — were assembled in the saloon of Mount 
Calm, awaiting the entree of the bridal party. 

At last, the carriage containing the family from Hemlock 
Hollow drove up, and paused before tlie main entrance of the 
ui.-.nsion, and Doctor Hardcastle alighted, followed by Doctor 
Hutton, who then handed out Mrs. Garnet and Mrs. Hard- 
castle. They passed up the marble stairs and into the hall, 
where they paused until Mrs. Garnet had sent up a servant to 
the bride, to request the favour of being received by her before 
she should come down into the saloon, and obtained an answer 
that Miss Seabright would be pleased to see Mrs. Garnet and 
Mrs. Hardcastle in her own apartment. 

The servant who brought back this message bowed and of- 
fered to show the ladies up. Mrs. Garnet and her daughter 
followed him up the broad stair-case into the upper hall, and 
through a door into an elegant front dressing-room, which 
Alice recognised with a smile as having been her own bod 
chamber. 


392 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


The room, when they entered, was vacant of other occu- 
pants, but they had scarcely seated themselves at the front 
windows when the opposite folding doors opened, and Miss 
Seabright appeared beft)re them. 

A novice, when she is about to renounce for ever the pomps 
and vanities of the world, and take the black veil of the nun, 
arrays herself for the last time in costly apparel. So Miss 
Seabright, when about to resign for ever all pretensions to 
spendour, arrayed her glorious form with almost regal magnifi- 
cence. Her bridal costume was a rich Mechlin lace over white 
and silver brocaded satin, and festooned with boquets of pearls 
and diamonds, a fine and ample lace veil confined above her 
lurid ringlets by a wreath of the same priceless gems. 

Mrs. Garnet raised her eyes to look upon the bride. She 
had never seen Miss Seabright before, and now at the first 
sight of her magnificently beautiful form and face, Alice started 
violently ; all the blood suddenly left her cheeks for an instant, 
and then rushed back again, crimsoning her face to the very 
edges of her hair. So startling, so strong, so 'painful was the 
resemblance of Miss Seabright to the late General Garnet 
Yes, there was the same majesty and sweetness of mien, the 
same regal turn of head and neck, the same fiery, dark hair, 
the same smouldering and flashing eyes, the same beautiful 
lips, the same bewildering smile. The only difference was, 
that in place of the latent diabolism under General Garnetts 
countenance, all Heaven shone from Miss Seabright’s. Alice 
felt that she looked upon her late husband's face, only with 
its beauty idealized, elevated, made divine. The vague, half- 
formed suspicions concerning the paternity of Garnet Sea- 
bright, that had occasionally floated through her mind, now 
became painfully confirmed. As she gazed, chills and heats 
alternately shook her frame, and then a strong, yearning com-^ 
passion mingled with the high admiration she had hitherto 
felt for the noble-souled girl, and she said to herself, I won- 
der if she knows it — ^then looking at her more attentively, 
she exclaimed inwardly, No ! no ! she does not know or 
suspect it. My soul upon it, she does not know or suspect it ! 
No ! there is a high self-appreciation, a grandeur in her mien 
and air, a majesty seated on that pure and lofty brow, uncon- 
scious of shame ; unconscious of the very possibility of shame. 
God shield her from the knowledge ! for oh ! as I look upon 


THE SECRET REVEALED. 


393 


her noble presence now, I feel too surely that the knowledge 
of her shame would kill her with a stroke swift, sharp, and 
sure. Grod shield her from the knowledge ! It were sacrilege 
to discrown that imperial brow of its diadem of unsullied ho- 
nour, and brand it with shame instead. God shield the inno- 
cent from the knowledge of guilt which is infamy ! God shield 
her ! Oh, I can now forgive my dead husband for having 
cheated me out of this beautiful daughter ; when I think he 
had the grace to keep her innocent of the knowledge of her 
parentage and his guilt. Yet how he must have loved her ! 
Oh ! doubtless, many times when his brow was overcast with 
gloom and sullenness, it was with the thought of this child. 
He never confided his sins or his troubles to me. Would he 
had ! I could have been as much of a friend as a wife to him. 
Would he had had faith enough in me, when the poor little 
one was orphaned, to have laid her on my bosom instead of ex- 
iling her to that bleak isle ! I would have brought her up as 
my own. Did he dream that I would have been otherwise 
than good to a little child ? But he would not trust me. He 
could tyrannize over me in a thousand useless ways, yet never 
could venture to bring the motherless child to my arms. No, 
he could never tell me until that night, when drunken both 
with brandy and bad passions — he taunted me with the fact.^^ 

All these thoughts of Garnet’s parentage passed with the 
rapidity of lightning through the mind of Mrs. Garnet, while 
Miss Seabright, with outstretched hands and radiant counte- 
nance, was advancing towards her. 

No, she must never know it; that pure, bright brow, must 
never be smirched and darkened by the burning, blackening 
smite of shame ! Yet shall she be another daughter to me,” 
concluded Alice, as she arose to meet the bride. As Miss 
Seabright, being the taller of the two, bent to welcome Mrs. 
Garnet, Alice threw one arm caressingly over her shoulder, 
and saying, 

}fe must not meet as strangers, my love,” kissed her 
cheek. 

Miss Seabright looked down, with proud gravity, upon the 
gentle lady, for an instant, and then said, 

have great pleasure in welcoming you back to your 
native halls, Mrs. Garnet. Long may you live in the enjoy- 
ment of them !” 


394 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


^^The enjoyment of which I owe to you, noble girh’^ 

Nay, madam; the long deprivation of which you owed to 
mo, unfortunately. The repossession of which now you owe 
to nobody — nothing. It is simple justice.^^ 

“ But it is not justice, thou noble girl, that thou, who wast 
brought up in affluence — ” 

Nay, madam — I have known penury^ too !” interrupted 
Miss Seabright, with a sort of proud humility, if the phrase 
be admissible. 

Without noticing the interruption, Mrs. G-arnet resumed — 

It is not justice, that one educated in luxury, and in the 
prospect of nearly boundless wealth, should be suddenly bereft 
of everything, and reduced to a position for which she is 
totally unfit.^^ 

Oh, madam, pardon me. Had I not an example before 
me? Hid not your own admirable . daughter resign wealth 
and station, and go forth to a life of toil and privation, to pre- 
serve intact the integrity of her heart V* said Garnet Seabright, 
with gentle dignity, waving her hand towards Mrs. Hardcastle, 
who had withdrawn to a distant window during this colloquy. 

“ Zes, to preserve the integrity of her heart, and the love 
of her heart — which latter gave her strength to do as she did. 
Yes, and that was scarcely a trial to Elsie, who possessed a 
cheerful, loving, and active temperament, and was, besides, 
without your aspiring ambition. No, Miss Seabright, nature, 
even more than education, has quite unfitted you for the life 
of active, household toil and privation, voluntarily assumed 
for long years by Mrs. Hardcastle. No, Miss Seabright; 
Justice, as well as your own magnanimous conduct, have 
imposed this duty on me.” Mrs. Garnet paused, and draw- 
ing from her pocket a roll of parchment, placed it in the 
hands of the bride. 

‘‘ What is this ?” asked Miss Seabright. 

It is a deed of conveyance of property to the amount of 
one-tenth the Mount Calm estate. Beceive it, with my love, 
as a marriage portion.” 

^^I cannot, madam,” said Miss Seabright, returning the 
deed. 

Nay, take it ! take it then as a mark of the high esteem 
— the honour I bear you !” persisted Mrs. Garnet, tendering 
the packet. 


895 


'THE SECRET llEVEALED. 

No, I cannot take it, madam/’ 

Receive it then as your right, proud girl ! Education 
and expectation have given you a right to this. Take it.” 

^‘Indeed, believe ii. e., I cannot, madam; though from my 
soul I thank you,” sai i Miss Seabright, with emotion. 

Mrs. Garnet looked d. - ouraged for an instant, and then, as 
her glance fell upon the u-right and joyous form of Elsie, as 
she stood looking out from i.ie front window upon the spsLing 
scene, her eyes lighted up, ana she called to her, 

Elsie, my love, come here. You have a gift of persuasion 
that I, with all my good will, never possessed.” 

Elsie came smiling forward. 

Miss Seabright, this is my daughter, Mrs. Hardcastle. 
(Ah, Heaven ! if they knew they were sisters !)” 

As Miss Seabright bowed, Mrs. Hardcastle threw her arm 
around her neck, and kissed her heartily, exclaiming, simply, 
Oh, I wished to meet you so much ! I shall be so glad 
to know you well !” 

“ I called you here, my love, to aid me in persuading Miss 
Seabright to suffer me to do her justice. You know — ” 

“ Yes, I know !” said Elsie, interposing her cheerful voice. 

I know all about it. See here. Miss Seabright ! I never was 
crowned with magnanimity, sublimity, enthusiasm, or the rest 
of the Godlike virtues and frenzies ! But I am gifted with 
some sound good sense, which is ever at the service of my 
friends, and I offer you a sample of it now. Magnanimity is 
Godlike, until it is distorted to fanaticism, when it is fool- 
like ! It was magnanimous in you to give up the whole of 
this estate. It would be fanatical to refuse to take the tenth 
of it when it is offered to you.” 

This aptness of this argument seemed to strike Miss Sea- 
bright, for smiling, she replied, 

I refer you to Doctor Hutton. I underwent such a course 
of lessons from him upon the love of lucre, as opposed to the 
love of justice, that I shall not forget it soon. Ha ! I am not 
sure that — should I go to the altar with a deed to the amount 
of half this estate in my pocket — he would not think I had 
backslidden in principles, and reject me even there !” 

Here, Miss Joe, who, unperceived, had entered the room 
qnd came up to them, interposed her voice, saying, 

“ 1 wish he wouldn’t — I iust do ! I shouldn’t like to see 


896 THE DISCAr1)ED daughter. 

Hugh make such a fool of himself as that!^' Then pattiAg 
Miss Seabright affectionately upon the shoulder, she whispered, 
in a knowing, confidential tone, You take it yourself, honey. 
Who has got a better right to some o^ General Garnet's pro- 
perty than yov ? Sure, you're his own flesh and blood I and 
the image of him, too! You're his own flesh and blood, 
honey. I know all about it. It's all in the little yellow hair 
trunk among the letters. You take it, honey. YouWe hu 
own flesh and blood!” 

Oh ! Miss Joe, your rash words have destroyed — ^have 
blasted her !" exclaimed Alice, in a voice of agony, as the old 
lady, having fired this magazine, hurried out of the room 
quite heedless, because quite unsuspicious of the impending 
ruin. 

And ruined indeed looked Miss Seabright, with every ves- 
tige of colour blasted from her marble-like face. Still as a 
statue of despair, she stood with her dilated eyes immovably 
fixed upon the receding figure of the old woman, until it had 
disappeared from the room. 

Then tossing back her bridal veil, and springing forward, 
she grasped the hand of Mrs. Garnet, and darting her wild 
gaze piercingly into the lady's gentle eyes, she asked, hur- 
riedly — 

Did I — did I hear aright ? What did she say 

'^Nothing; do not mind her. Miss Seabright," replied the 
lady, with a flushed brow. 

What did she say ?” repeated Garnet. 

Nothing I Nothing worth telling, my dear." 

Oh I I implore you, tell me what did she say ?" 

My dearest girl I nothing that it is well you should hear." 

Nay, then 1 I adjure you to tell me I By your soul's 
truth, 1 ADJURE you to tell me I" persisted the miserable 
girl. 

She told you, dearest Garnet, that you were the daughter 
of my late husband ; but — " 

Stay I am I so f” interrupted Garnet, in a voicie of inde- 
scribable anguish. 

Yes — I believe so," replied Alice, gently. 

She dropped the hand she had grasped with such strength, 
and stood as if suddenly turned to stone, for an instant — and 


.THE SECRET REVEALED. 397 

then springing forward with the wild energy of desperation, 
she exclaimed — 

Unsay those words! Unsay them, or see me die be- 
fore you 1^' 

Alice suddenly threw her arms around the form of the 
stricken girl, and catching her wild eyes, gazed into them deeply 
and tenderly as though she would have transfused all her 
own sweet love and resignation into that rampant soul, and 
said — 

Dearest child ! She told you only what ict knew, and still 
loved you. Dearest child I you are my husband’s daughter, 
and Elsie’s younger sister — and we love you.” 

The child of your husband and not your child I The 
younger sister of your daughter, and you living V’ exclaimed 
the wretched girl, sinking, withering, shrivelling as it were 
before the fell blast of this burning and consuming revelation. 
At last she groaned forth in tones of unutterable sorrow — 

Oh ! Oh ! was it right, Heaven ! was it well, Heaven ! just 
as I had made a great sacrifice to duty, and achieved a great 
moral victory ; was it well to strike me in my pride of place, 
and bring me down so low I so low /” Then with another 
spasmodic outbreak of energy, she exclaimed — “Unsay those 
words I Unsay them, or see me die before you ! Take all 
I have — wealth, rank, prospects, hopes ! all, all 1 but, for the 
love of Grod, Unsay those words I Take all, all ! but leave 
me my honourable name ! Take all, all I but let me go an 
honoured, if an humble bride, to my husband’s home I Oh, for 
the pity of God !” 

Again Mrs. Garnet threw her arms around the cowering 
form of the wretched girl, as though she would envelope, sus- 
tain, save her in this trying moment, by the might of love; and 
saying — 

“ My dearest Garnet I my love I my love ! you shall go an 
honourable and an honoured bride to your husband’s home. 
One whom I will take to my bosom thus — is a worthy match 
for any man. You should have been my own daughter. Gar- 
net, but that I was cheated out of you; but I claim you now. 
You are my husband’s child, and the express image of his per- 
son ; therefore you should have been my child ; therefore I 
claim you now to be my child of right. I loved your father, 
Garnet ! I love you ! Believe me I Do not cover your 
25 


898 THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER)^ 

face, and turn it from me. Let me kiss you. Do not 
grieve so.’^ 

Grieve exclaimed the sinking girl, in a voice of anguish ; 
I do not grieve, lady ! I die ! Grieve ! Oh ! look you, 
madam ! If I had suifered the loss of friends by death, or 
what is worse, by treachery ; if I were miserably poor, ill, and 
abandoned ; if I were dying of disease, want, and neglect ; if 
I were misjudged, slandered, and persecuted; if I were unjustly 
charged, falsely imprisoned, and innocently doomed to death ; 
if I were suffering any other anguish of mind, or agony of 
body, then I might grieve — but now ! now ! that I know my- 
self a living, breathing monument of guilt \” a terrible shudder 
shook her frame and arrested her speech — her form collapsed 
and sank more than before — and it was in a dying voice she 
resumed — Now, that I know myself infected by worse than 
leprosy ” — she paused and looked at herself from head to foot ; 
she stretched forth her beautiful brown arm, frosted with pearls 
and diamonds, and surveyed it; she gathered up the lurid 
ringlets of her dark hair and gazed on them; then, dropping 
her arms wearily, she continued — I was not so vain as grate- 
ful for my beauty. But now ! oh, God ! to think that every 
atom of flesh, and every drop of blood, and every nerve and 
vein to my heart’s core is pervaded, permeated with sin and 
reproach ! sin and reproach ! Oh, God ! oh, God ! quickly 
take back the soul Thou didst send into this shape of sin 1” 
Once more her form cowered, crushed beneath the over- 
whelming weight of ignominy. She tottered and must have 
fallen to the floor, but that Elsie sprang and aided her mother 
in supporting her to a sofa near. 

declare,” exclaimed Elsie, in her positive manner, ^Hhere 
should have been no concealment, she should have grown up 
with the knowledge of her parentage \” 

Oh-h-h ! doubtless,” murmured the nearly dying girl, 
oh, doubtless they should have told me of my birth ! And 
then my soul would have grown up familiarized with in- 
famy, until it became as base as its proscribed dwelling- 
place !” 

But,” said Elsie, in her calm way, is it possible you 
never suspected this? It is possible that, when you came 
home from school, with all your faculties alive and keen, you 
could have looked upon my father’s portrait, and looked upon 


4 


THE SECRET REVEALED. 


899 


your own reflection in the glass, and not be struck by the 
resemblance, the identity of the two faces ? Is it possible that 
you did not suspect this 

Suspect this ! suspect my birth ! suspect my shame ! Oh, 
woman, woman ! you found me proud and joyous ! how could I 
have suspected this ? You found me living ! how could I have 
suspected this and lived V’ she exclaimed, in a voice of inde- 
scribable grief and reproach, and then her form subsided, as 
were, prostrate among the cushions. And so it was through- 
out the scene; frequent convulsive outbreaks of anguish 
would be instantly followed by the prostration of all strength. 
And then she lay with her hands pressed upon her face a 
long time perfectly still, but for an occasional start and 
shudder. She lay there, with Elsie sitting by her side, 
until the clock struck eight — the marriage hour. Mrs. Garnet 
then approached, and kneeling by her, embraced and kissed 
her, saying. 

My dear girl, my daughter ^ rouse yourself. The bitter 
trial of this needless revelation has shocked you nearly to 
death. But it will pass away, as all trials must, my love ! 
Garnet, I too, have had trials in my time, heart-crushing dis- 
appointments and sorrows, from which I thought I never 
could recover. But I have recovered, you see. My sorrows 
are gone, long ago ; gone down the stream of the past, and I 
have been happy for years. So it will be with you. We all 
think our first sorrow is going to kill us, but it does not. We 
live and recover. So you will find it. This sudden revelation 
has overwhelmed you, but you will get over it. We will 
make you forget it. You will be an honourable and honoured 
wife. You will be loved and happy. Come, rouse yourself ! 
Your marriage hour has struck. Your husband waits you 
even now, come ! Give me your hand ! Arise 

“ My marriage hour has struck ! My husband waits me 
now ! Oh, madam, do you then believe me base in soul as in 
birth V’ exclaimed the miserable girl, with bitterness. 

“ In the name of Heaven, what mean you 
Bo you think that I, stripped of all other possessions, 
will carry my dower of shame to my husband’s home?” 

“ In the name of mercy, what do you mean ?” asked Alice, 
in alarm. 

<< Oh, merely this, that this marriage must not and shaU not 


400 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


proceed ! Oh, no ! Doctor Hutton must never blush for his 
wife^s parentage I” 

Mrs. Grarnet glanced at Elsie in despair. Elsie here inter- 
posed her blooming face and hopeful voice, saying. 

Miss Seabright, as I told you before, I have no grand 
sentiments, but I have some good sense, and it seems to me, as 
it takes two to make an engagement, it takes two to break it, 
honestly ; I think, as you have plighted your troth to Hugh 
Hutton, you might consult him before breaking faith with 
him, for such a cause, at the very last moment.^^ 

Consult him !” said the poor girl, as the blood crimsoned 
her ashen brow. . How can I consult him ? And if I could, 
I know his self-immolating generosity. I know, besides, that 
he loves me so, he would hold me to my word ; he loves me 
80, he would take the shame with me. Consult him ! No, no ! 
for many reasons. But without consulting him, I will break 
with him ; since in breaking faith I shall wrong him less 
than in keeping it V* 

“ Ah, Miss Seabright, that is sophistry ! And sophistry is 
ngenious, but it deceives no one. Duty is very simple, and 
,.t never can be mistaken. But I hear the bridegroom and his 
riends approaching the door. Come, rise ! let me re-arrange 
■our hair and wreath.^^ 

Mrs. Grarnet opened the door, and admitted Dr. Hardcastle 
and Hugh Hutton. Dr. Hardcastle went up to his wife, who 
drew him off to a distant window, while Hugh Hutton, seeing 
his bride reclining, pale and disordered, upon the sofa, 
hastened to her, stooped over, took her hand, and gazed 
anxiously upon her, inquiring, 

‘^My dearest Garnet, what is the matter? Are you ill 

•Oil 

again r 

She turned her face, whitened and sharpened with anguish, 
upon him, gazed intently in his countenance, but said nothing 
for a full minute — then, as by a new and sudden impulse, she 
exclaimed 

Hugh ! I know my birth. Do youf” 

Doctor Hutton dropped her hand, frowned, and compressed 
nis lips. 

Garnetts features convulsed with a spasm of anguish, and 
.ihe covered her face with her hands. 

When Hugh Hutton saw that, he dropped upon his knee 


THE SECRET REVEALED. 401 

at her side, removed her hands, and kissed her pallid brow, 
saying, 

know that God created you a heaiitiful and high-souled 
woman. I know that by no act of your life have you ever 
marred His creation. I seek to know — he broke forth with 
sudden energy — I consent to know no more.^^ 

Hugh,^^ she said, looking at him piteously, an evil cov- 
ered up, is not an evil cured. Hugh, this marriage must not 
go on.^^ 

Nettie, you are insane V* 

^^No, never more soberly, sadly sane than now.^^ 

What ! would you break your engagement to me ? — and 
at the last moment V* 

Yes j for a sufficient reason.^^ 

But I will not consent to it.^' 

I do not ask your consent. I break it.^^ 

Nettie I” 

^^Hugh! stoop down here ! — ^nearer — there. Suglil^ she 
said, tenderly running her pale fingers through the dark waves 
of hair, each side his massive forehead, and holding his head 
between her hands as she gazed fondly in his face — Hugh ! 
I know you love me. I have never doubted it one single mo- 
ment. And I do love you. So much — so much, Hugh, I 
love you so much, that to save my own immortal soul I would 
not marry you.^^ 

You dare not refuse me. I claim your plighted faith. I 
claim you for my wife,^^ exclaimed Hugh Hutton, passionately. 

To save you I dare refuse you. To save you I dare break 
my plighted faith, and take the sin upon my own soul. Hugh I 
dear Hugh ! in one great contest I yielded to you, because high 
principle was on your side. But this is a difierent matter, I 
am as inexorable as Death.^' 

Nettie ! Nettie! I am strong; but your loss would para- 
lyze me. But (ih ! it cannot be. I will never, never leave 
you nor forsake you. If I do, may God abandon my own 
soul V* 

Her features were convulsed again, and for a moment she 
concealed them with her hands ; then laying her hands ten- 
derly upon the head of her kneeling companion, and looking 
with immortal love upon his troubled face, she said. 

It does not matter much fot me, for I think that death if 


402 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


upon me — ^but for you, Hugh — oh, it is hard, it is hard for 
you. It is hard for you, so good and true, so noble as you 
are, to be so grievously wronged by disappointment. Oh ! it 
shakes one’s faith in goodness, in Heaven. But I love you 
BO — I love you so that I will pray God, living or dying, I 
will pray God to give you another love, another wife, who shall 
be worthy of you.” 

By Heaven ! I will have no other wife but you. And 
you will I have !” exclaimed Hugh Hutton, forgetting the 
presence of others, and speaking so loud as to startle Mrs. 
Garnet, who came forward and said. 

Oh, Hugh ! my dear friend, is not this a trouble ? What 
shall we do to persuade her ?” 

Dear friend, leave me alone with her for a little while. 
God has deputed to me some power over His self-willed child 
— this noble but stubborn girl. Leave me with her.” 

Mrs. Garnet turned to go, but was met near the door by 
Miss Joe, who bustled in, and nudging the lady’s elbow, whis- 
pered to her, saying, 

say ! ain’t it time for them all to walk down ? The par- 
son — Parson Sinclair — has been come for half-an-hour, and 
the company down stairs is getting out o’ patience. Besides, 
if the ceremony don’t make haste and get performed, the 
breakfast will get spoiled — the coffee will boil all its strength 
away, and the batter for the rice waffles will rise so much it 
will turn sour. What are they all waiting for ?” 

Nothing. And I do not know that there will be any mar- 
riage,” replied Mrs. Garnet, sternly and bitterly. 

Hugh, what is the matter ?” exclaimed Miss J oe, looking 
around in surprise. Then perceiving the recumbent form of 
Miss Seabright, with Doctor Hutton still kneeling by her, she 
inquired, “ Dear me I What ails Garnet ?” 

‘‘You have ruined her peace for ever,” indignantly ex- 
claimed Mrs. Garnet, unable to forbear reproaches. “You 
have killed her with your uncalled for revelations.” 

“ Me ! ruined what ? killed which ?” exclaimed the inno- 
cent old lady, in perplexity. 

“ Garnet Seabright. I say you have killed her.” 

“ Killed her ! why I hain’t even tetched her. I hain't done 
a thing to her, I hain’t harmed a hair of her head. I hain’t 


THE SECRET REVEALED. 4U3 

been a-nigh her. She was well enough when I cDme throuj^h 
here with the napkins/^ 

Words^ kill ! You told her the secret of her birth, lou 
told her she was General Garnet’s child, and the shock and 
the shame have overwhelmed, have killed her.” 

The old lady listened with her eyes starting out of her heiad, 
and her mouth wide open with unmeasured astonishment, and 
then exclaimed, 

Me ! Me tell her she was General Garnet’s child ! Why, 
I didn’t do no such a thing ! Who says I did 

I ! I heard you with my own ears.” 

Why, you didn’t hear any such a thing ! High ! how 
could I tell such a lie as that, when it wa’n’t the truth ?” 

Mrs. Garnet, in her turn, stared with Such unbounded as- 
tonishment and incredulity, that the old lady took high offence, 
and exclaimed. 

Well ! upon my word ! Next time it lightens, I shouldn’t 
wonder if you accused me of setting the clouds afire. Come ! 
if you don’t b’lieve me, there’s the young gal herself. Go 
ask her now. She ain’t dying neither, no more ’an I am. 
She looks gashly as a corpse, to be sure, but Lord ! I’ve seen 
her look that way afore, when she’d get into her tantrums 
long o’ her guardian or Hugh. Come I I’ll go and the old 
lady waddled precipitately across the room to the sofa, ex- 
claiming, wrathfully, Miss Seabright ! Garnet Seabrighc. I 
say ! Now did ever I tell you sich a falsity as that you were 
General Garnet’s child ?” 

Doctor Hutton started up from his kneeling posture, and 
stood staring at the excited old lady. Garnet sprang up from 
the cushions, and gazed at her face with all her soul in her 
eyes. 

^^My goodness, child; don’t stare at me so wild ! You’ll 
give me the fever ’n’ ague. Answer my question.” 

Here Doctor and Mrs. Hardcastle were attracted to the 
scene of action. 

Can’t you speak ? Did ever I say you were General Gar- 
net’s child ?” 

Did — yon — not — my — asked Miss Seabright, with 
life and death struggling in her bosom. 

No ! I did not say so. How could I tell such a lie, w*’ 
it wasn’t the truth ?” 


404 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


^^And — he — was — not — my — -father 

I wish people wouldn’t be slandering of your poor, dear 
mother ! poor, little, wild thing. She was distantly connected 
with myself.” 

But,” said Elsie, interposing, no one raised a doubt but 
yourself. Miss Joe, and we would like to hear you explain 
your words, that gave rise to all this trouble.” 

Words ! what words ?” 

The words you whispered to Miss Seabright when you 
passed through the room, an hour ago.” 

Oh ! yes. Why, I telled her she might’s well have a share 
o’ the property, seein’ how she was General Garnet’s grand- 
daughter.” 

General Garnet’s granddaughter,” exclaimed every one. 

Yes. Don’t all talk to me at the same time, you ’fuse 
my head. I declare, if my heart ain’t as big as a batch of 
light dough, and my head goes round like a cojffee-mill ! — thal 
’minds me of the breakfast — ^’deed it will get spoilt.” 

But you did not tell her that she was General Garnet’s 
granddaughter. It was something else you told her,” said 
Elsie. 

— don’t ’fuse my mind. I don’t ’member what the 
words were, but that’s vvhat the meaning was.” 

I remember what the words were exactly,” said Elsie ; 
she said she was ^ his own flesh and blood.’ ” 

To be sure I did ; that’s just what I did say. It’s all in 
the little yellow hair trunk — her mother’s little yellow hair 
trunk. I never knowed anything about it until I come here 
to live, because I never had no chance to fool my time away 
ransacking of old papers afore. If you’ll all stop talking to 
me. I’ll tell you all about it, and you can read the rest. You 
see. General Garnet, when he was a boy about seventeen or 
eighteen years old, he falls in love long of a poor gal, and 
marries her secretly. In about a year arter this, the poor gal 
she died, leaving of a young infant son. Then General Gar- 
net — he was Mr. Garnet then — he being a wild young man, 
and not wanting to be bothered with children, he puts this 
child out to nurse, and goes off and forgets all about it. But 
the boy, as he grew up, he knew, some how, who his father 
was, and sort o’ always had a hankering arter flnding him. 
W^ell, he didn’t meet his father till he listed in the wars, when 


THE SECRET REVEALED. 


405 


he was no more than fourteen years of age; and he served 
under him the whole length of the war ; and though General 
Garnet — he was Captain Garnet then — being a handsome^ 
dashing, gay young officer, would not acknowledge or even 
notice this son, yet the boy seemed to worship the very yeth 
his father walked on. He seemed to live for but one thing 
in the world — to love and serve his handsome hut onnateral 
father. He watched over the safety of his life and his hon- 
our. Twice he saved his father’s honour at the loss of his own 
reputation ; and that was the reason why he never got to be 
anything better ’an a corporal, all the time he sarved in the 
war. I’ll tell you all about it some time, or else you can 
read it all in the old letters in the little yellow hair trunk 
Well, and at last he saved his father’s life, at the expense of 
a dreadful wound, that, arter years of illness, caused his death. 
Well, this boy — though his father didn’t set any store to him, 
and his comrades didn’t vally him as they ought to ’a done — 
was thought a heap on by my wild little cousin. And so, 
when he come from the wars, wounded, and feeble, and broken- 
hearted, she stole away to him, and they were married. She 
said she could work for both, and she did work for both till 
he died. Well, arter the poor misfortunate young man was 
dead and gone, I suppose General Garnet’s conscience, as had 
been stone dead long before, had a ressurrection, or else the 
ghost of his murdered conscience haunted him, for he paid a 
visit to the young widow, and found her grieving herself to 
death. Well, he made a whole parcel o’ splendid promises 
as he never fulfilled. And when the poor young thing died, 
leaving her little darter in his care, he jest passed her over to 
me as a great favour, and that was the very last I ever saw 
or heard of him or his promises, till he quarrelled long o’ hi&i 
own darter, and then he corned over and ’dopted Nettie 
You see, God never could prevail with him to do anything, 
but the devil could make him do as he pleased.” 

There, there. Miss Joe, that will do,” interrupted Mrs. 
Garnet, to whom these severe reflections were deeply painful. 

Never, Miss Joe, cast unnecessary reproach upon the me- 
mory of the dumb defenceless dead.” 

I won’t. I am sure if the Lord pardons him, we can. 1 
won’t say any more. Only if you want to know all the par- 
ticulars, you see, you can read the letters in the little yellow 


406 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


hair trunk. And that^s the end cf the story ; and now I know 
the coffee is spoilt.^^ 

G-arnet, you have a right to blush for your parentage- 
hut let it be a blush of enthusiasm, for never have I heard of 
two such disinterested souls/^ said Doctor Hardcastle, shaking 
her hand with cordial sympathy. 

Hugh Hutton said nothing as yet, but stood by her, pouring 
all his earnest loving soul through the gaze he fixed upon her 
face. And she — down her cheeks the tears had poured like 
rain. But now that copious and refreshing shower was over, 
and the sun of gladness shone out again. Garnet smiled 
brightly, while yet the teare sparkled like rain-drops on her 
ringlets. Mrs. Hardcastle, with her cheerful blooming ex- 
pression, was standing behind her quietly re-arranging the 
disordered wreath and veil. Mrs. Garnet went to the door 
of the adjoining room, and beckoned the two young ladies 
who were to act as bridesmaids. Doctor Hardcastle opened 
the hall door and admitted the groomsmen, who entered and 
gave their arms to the young bridesmaids. Hugh Hutton 
took the hand of Garnet, and when she arose, Elsie arranged 
the folds of her robe, and whispered. 

Never mind if you are very pale and agitated, dear; it is 
not so unbefitting a bride — besides, your veil is down, you 
know.^^ 

The bridal party moved onward down stairs. As Doctor 
Hardcastle followed with his wife, he turned to her with an 
arch look, and whispered. 

My dear Elsie, there is an old acquaintance of yours below 
stairs.’^ 

Many of them, T suspect.^^ 

Yes, but this one is an uninvited, unexpected, but most 
welcome guest.’^ 

Whom 

The Honourable Ulysses Roebuck.^^ 

The Honourable Ulysses Roebuck I remember ^ Marso 
Useless,^ as the negroes used to call him ; but how on earth 
became he ^ Honourable V ” 

Doctor Hardcastle shrugged his shoulders, elevated his eye- 
brows with a queer smile, and answered, 

“ I really suppose just as most of our Honourables become 
so. He failed at everything useful, went to a distant part of 


THE SECRET REVEALED. 


407 

the state, took to politics, made stump-speeches ^ full of sound 
and fury, signifying nothing,' and got himself sent to Con- 
gress. After an absence of ten years, he has just now re- 
visited his native neighbourhood. He reached Point Pleasant 
by the early boat this morning, and finding that the family 
were all here, he followed them and is here also." 

‘^And his old lady-love, who jilted him to marry my 
father, and lost both, and who must be now near twenty-eight 
years of age, how did she receive him 1 I should like to 
have seen that meeting." 

I saw it. When he first entered the saloon, he was caught 
in the arms of Judge Jacky, who ran to him and rapturously 
embraced him, overwhelming him with welcomes. Then, 
when released from the old gentleman’s arms, he shook hands 
with all his friends and acquaintances, looking uneasily around 
the room all the while, as if in search of some one else. At 
last his flying glances alighted on the distant form of Am- 
brosia, standing near the fire-place. He made her a formal 
bow, which she acknowledged by a cold curtsy !" 

After a lover’s quarrel and a separation of ten years. 
That is a first-rate sign, Magnus; I should not wonder if 
he had cherished her image in his heart through all those 
years." 

Well, they had not even spoken when I came away." 

Better and better. I shall not be surprised if he propose 
for her before the day is over." 

They had now reached the saloon where the bridal party 
were already ranging themselves before the clergyman, who 
was no other than our oldest friend, the Reverend Milton 
Sinclair. 

See !" whispered Doctor Hardcastle, pointing to where 
Miss Wylie sat gloomily at one end of the room, and Mr. 
Roebuck morosely at the other, see ! I do not believe they 
have spoken yet." 

I believe they’ll be married in a week !’’ laughed Elsie. 

But the clergyman had opened his book, the ceremony was 
was about to commence, and all became silent and profoundly 
attentive while it progressed. It was over, and friends 
crowded around to offer their congratulations to the newly 
married pair. In the crowd, Ulysses Roebuck, Mrs. Hard* 
caatle, and Ambrosia Wylie got pressed together. 


408 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


I declare I” exclaimed Elsie, with her cheerful ringing 
tones, if here are not two of my old, old playmates and 
seizing a hand of each, she shook them heartily, then joining 
those two hands in hers, she said, Let me be the mediator. 
Be friends, as you long to be and slipped away, leaving 
them together. 

Shall we be friends ? Shall we be more to each other, 
Ambrosia said Ulysses, pressing her hand. 

Yes ! if you can forgive the infidelity caused by ambition, 
and expiated by whole years of suffering.^^ 

I have waited for you ten years. Ambrosia. I should 
think that an answer. Come ! let’s go to the bay window 
and talk over old times !” 

Not now, the company are going in to breakfast,” replied 
Ambrosia, taking his arm ; and they followed in the wake of 
the foremost. Mrs. Grarnet approached the clergyman, who 
still lingered as if lost in abstraction. 

Mr. Sinclair,” she said, it gives me great happiness to 
see you back here and settled in our parish. I am much 
pleased, also, to welcome you to our house. The company 
have gone in to breakfast, will you come ?” Mr. Sinclair bowed 
in grave silence, gave the lady his arm, and they followed the 
others. 

Breakfast was over. The travelling carriage of Mount 
Calm was packed and at the door to convey the newly mar- 
ried couple to the stage-office at Huttontown, whence they 
were to start for the West. The family party, consisting of 
Mrs. Garnet, Doctor and Mrs. Hardcastle, and the bride and 
groom, were grouped for a last leave-taking in the passage, 
when Miss Joe suddenly appeared among them, in her poke 
bonnet and brown shawl, with a band-box in one hand and a 
basket in the other, and followed by a negro man, bending 
under the weight of a great trunk. When the little party 
stared with surprise, she exclaimed. 

Well, now, you needn’t look so queer all of you, ’cause I 
couldn’t help of it ! I’ve been a struggling, and a struggling 
with my feelings, and I couldn’t help of it. I’m gwine long o’ 
Hugh and Nettie. They’re like my own children, ’cause 1 
took care of them when they were little! And I’m gwine 
long o’ them. Besides, long as they’re poor, they’ll want 
somebody to help them work. It ain’t much I can do now. 


THE SECRET REVEALED. 409 

seeing Fm nigh on to seventy years old. But, leastways, I 
can mend their clothes, and darn the children’s stockings, and 
mind the baby, and so o^.” 

There was no time for much argument now, but to all that 
Mrs. G-arnet and the Hardcastles could say to prevail on hei 
to remain at Mount Calm, the old lady turned a deaf ear. 
She was set to go with Hugh and Nettie, because they were 
like her own children, and because they were poor. 

^^But they are not poor,” said Mrs. Garnet; and, oh ! that 
reminds me, I have the deed of gift yet,” continued the lady, 
producing the deed from her pocket, and placing it in the 
hands of Doctor Hutton. 

What is thisy madam ?” he asked, examining the parch- 
ment. 

It is merely a dower with your bride,” said the lady. 

It is a deed of conveyance, Hugh, investing me with pro- 
perties to the amount of one-tenth the great Mount Calm 
estate. Can I take it ?” 

‘‘No, dearest! no I you cannot!” replied Doctor Hutton, 
pressing her hand ; then turning to the lady, she said, “ Mrs. 
Garnet, we sincerely thank you. This generosity is so like 
yourself, that we are not surprised at it, while we must grate- 
fully decline it.” 

As no arguments could move Hugh Hutton from his resolu- 
tion, the effort was at last abandoned. 

The carriage, into which Miss Joe was packed, drew up 
nearer to the door. Garnet embraced her friends successively. 
Hugh Hutton shook hands with them in turn, and handed 
his bride into the carriage. The steps were put up, the door 
closed, and the carriage rolled away. 

♦ * 3|C ♦ ♦ jK 

Mrs. Garnet continued to reside at Mount Calm, happy in 
her vocation of “ Lady Bountiful” to the neighbourhood — hap- 
py, that is to say, as long as the fine weather of spring, sum- 
mer, and autumn, lasted, during which, in her missions of use- 
fulness or benevolence, she could walk, ride, or drive through 
the most beautiful country in the world ; but, when winter 
came, with its wind and rain, and hail and snow-storms, its 
impassable roads, and its long spells of tempestuous or in 
tensely cold weather, and its longer reasons of enforced confine^ 


410 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


ment within-doors, the lonely lady of Mount Calm found the 
solitary grandeur of her mansion house dreary enough. The 
minister had been her coadjutor, and often her companion, in 
her labours of beneficence, during the preceding eight or ten 
months ; and now, in the stormy winter weather, he was her 
willing representative and almoner among the sick, the poor, 
and the suffering. No fury of tempest overhead, or depth of snow, 
' or quagmire under foot, could interrupt the weekly visits of tha 
pastor to the lady. The solitary lady knew this ; and so, even 
in the most frightful weather, during the darkest, dreariest, 
and loneliest seasons, there was one day in the week to which 
she could look forward with certainty of enjoyment, namely, to 
Wednesday ; when, let the wind and the rain, the hail and the 
snow, do what it might to prevent him, the minister was sure 
to present himself at Mount Calm. Each Wednesday evening, 
it became more painful for these two old friends to part, and 
the parting was protracted to a later hour. One very stormy 
night in February, when he had lingered by her fireside later 
than ever before, and had at last arisen to take leave, he de- 
tained her hand in his a long time, in silence, and then faltered, 
Alice, are we never to be more to each other than now 
The lady shook her head in mournful negation, and there was 
a souFs tragedy’^ in the tone wherewith she answered, simply, 
“ We are old, now” The timid proposition was not renewed 
then, the shyness of age, worse than the shyness of youth, 
silenced the lips of the minister. The proposal probably never 
would have been renewed, but for the intervention of the cor- 
dial-hearted Elsie — that happy, healthful, sworn foe to all 
morbid scruples, and needless suffering. She had been made 
acquainted with her mother’s early history, and for years 
past she had watched over the delicate lady with more care 
and tenderness than over either of her own robust and bloom- 
ing babies. Now that she was divided from her, she felt in- 
creased solicitude for the welfare of the fragile, sensitive re- 
cluse. It was towards the spring that she was awakened to a 
knowledge of the attachment existing between the lady and 
the pastor ; and, after taking observation for a few days, she 
one day said to her mother, Mother, why don’t you marry 
the minister ?” Dear Elsie, what could suggest such an ab- 
surd thing to your mind ? What would the neighbours say ? 
At our age, too Dearest mother, they may wonder a lit* 


THE SECRET REVEALED 


411 


ile, but, upon the whole, they will be well pleased ; besides, 
shall their wonder prevent you being comfortable ? You need 
each other’s society, you and the minister. You are both so 
lonely — you in your mansion, he in his lodgings — ^you need 
each other. Come, accept him, mother. Magnus and I will 
give you our blessing,” laughed Elsie; and then, immediately 
regretting her involuntary levity, she said, seriously, Dear 
mother, think of this. You have reached the summit-point 
of life ; before you lies the descent into the vale of years ; 
your old friend stands on the same ground, with the same road 
before him. — Give your hand to your dear old friend, and go 
ye down the vale together.” 

Elsie was successful in her efforts. Before another winter 
the lady and the minister were married; and thenceforward 
the serene and beautiful life of the pair gave a poetic fitness 
to the name of their homestead, “ Mount Calm.” 

Doctor and Mrs. Hardcastle made . Hemlock Hollow their 
place of permanent residence. They erected an elegant man- 
sion, and improved and adorned the grounds with such 
artistic taste, that it was considered one of the most beautiful 
seats in old St. Mary’s. 

The Honourable Ulysses and Mrs. Roebuck spent their 
summers at Point Pleasant, and th^ir winters in the metropo- 
lis, until the Honourable Uiysses grew weary of political life, 
and careless of popularity, and lost his election ; when they 
took up their permanent abode at the Point, with Judge Jacky 
Wylie. 

And the families of Hemlock Hollow, Mount Calm, and 
Point Pleasant, formed an intimate social circle, and kept up 
their agreeable relations after the St. Mary’s fashion of family 
dinner-parties, social tea-drinkings, fish feasts upon the coast, 
fox-hunts among the gentlemen, neighbourhood dances, &c. ; 
while the gentle, but powerful influence emanating from 
Mount Calm spread the spirit of religion over all. 

Doctor and Mrs. Hutton eventually settled in a Southern 
State. Miss Joe Cotter remained with them to the end of 
her long life. Consistent in her economy to the very last, 
she devoted the remaining years of her life to ^Haying up 
treasures in Heaven.” Doctor Hutton became one of the most 
celebrated physicians of the country, and amassed a large for- 
tune Mrs. Hutton became one of the brightest stars in the 


412 


THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. 


great Southern constellation of beauty, genius, and fashion. 
Their home is a beautiful edifice on the banks of a Southern 
lake, within an easy distance of the city. For elegance, taste, 
and luxury, it is scarcely excelled by the far-famed palaces 
of the old world. From his present affluent ease. Doctor Hut- 
ton delights to look back upon his early struggles, and he re- 
peats now, with more emphasis than before, that, A young 
American should never permit himself to depend upon 
the accidents of fortune for success in life ; for in our pros- 
perous country, a man of good health and good habits need 
never fail to make an independence for himself and family, 
and to win the blessing of God.” 


THE END. 


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